The Reckoning
by Lowdown and Dirty
Summary: "Roger, what the hell?" She sighed, after five long years, and very much expecting a happy, wholesome reunion. "I get the notorious pirate thing, I do, really, but is breaking my deck in half as a hello really necessary?" ...The little bastard had the nerve to look embarrassed.
1. Prologue: Origins

**Story Title:**

The Reckoning

 **Prologue:**

Origins

 **Summary:**

"Roger, what the hell?" She sighed, after five long years, and very much expecting a happy, wholesome reunion. "I get the notorious pirate thing, I do, really, but is breaking my deck in half as a hello really necessary?" ...The little bastard had the nerve to look embarrassed.

 **Warnings** :

Some language here and there but nothing too bad really.

 **Author's Note:**

 **This is my first fan fiction for One Piece, so I hope I'm not doing anything that's too common around here with this OC or whatever.**

 **Anyway, I sincerely hope you enjoy my writing.**

 **L D**

* * *

 _"It's like the whole world-everything we knew and had ever known-was suddenly collapsing in on itself at the same exact moment in every inch of space and time and there was nothing that we could do about it. I couldn't breathe, no one could, and the air was so thick and suffocating and horrible that the world was drowning us in our own misery. There was smoke and fire and there was nothing we would have ever been able to do to stop it-nothing, nothing, nothing at all-and my life was going up in flames, quite literally before my very eyes._

 _It hadn't always been like that though. In fact, everything that had ever happened to me before then had been so very perfect-even if I hadn't known that-up until that moment._

 _I'm not being sentimental. In comparison to the ash and fumes and screaming, anything would have been perfect. This is plain and simple honesty speaking._

 _I wasn't a very good child, and I could have been better, and that will haunt me for the rest of my life, but I also refuse to have regrets. I will never forsake my life to wallow in my tears, my heartache. I vowed that the day my village was ravaged to the ground. I swore to my little brother that I would take care of him until the day I die._

 _That is where our story begins I suppose; not that day, no, that comes a bit later, but with my brother, whom you are most certainly well aware of._

 _His name was Roger._

 _You might know him as Gol D. Roger, the Pirate King."_

* * *

Piques D. Anne was running for her life.

Not that it was very uncommon, just a real annoyance to the people who wanted her dead. Mostly because the mongrel of a girl could run faster than all the men chasing her combined, and was very much not in need of dying, thus resulting in Anne becoming so well versed in Lougetown nuances that, if she wanted, she could stay hidden and well fed for up to two months; possibly more. Anne knew what shopkeepers could afford sparing scrapes, the best hidden alleyways, and most importantly, she had the ferry schedule memorized.

That was the chief bit there, the ferry, because if she couldn't get back to her proper island, the proper Polestar island that is, her grandfather would have a fit.

Anyway, Anne was running for her life. She wasn't too terrible concerned about it. Which might sound strange, but it really wasn't, because while she was being chased by a group of thugs, she was laughing, their spoils jingling in her pockets all the while. Also, the ferry was leaving in exactly two minutes. Just enough time for her to get on and leave her pursuers cursing at the dock, wondering where she'd gone.

They certainly weren't too bright.

Anne laughed and laughed and maybe she was just a little bit crazy, but that didn't matter at the second.

All that mattered was that she had won and that those wretched criminals got what was coming to them. In the end, that's all that was important to Anne anyway when she made her rounds around Loguetown.

She took a sharp right, into an alleyway that had been abandoned for years, and rushed atop a mountain of garbage likely for the homeless and street rats. Anne made quick work of climbing on top of the roof of Tao-san, the baker, and tiptoed over to the box she had nailed to the back of his house.

She had little things like this all over town, nothing unusual. Just somewhere to switch out clothes, should she get into trouble (which was often). She jerked a black cloak out of the box, and set the sun hat she had been wearing inside in it gently. The exchange only took a few seconds at the most, and then she was gone, walking to the ferry, her hood up and a grin on her face.

Not five seconds after she stepped on the boat, the captain announced its departure, and the seven year old absolutely delighted in watching her victims run right past the dock, cursing, completely oblivious to her presence just a few meters out into the sea.

She laughs and the waves chortle with her, crashing against the ferry in chaotic harmony.

These are her idyllic days, running and laughing and being a cloud in the wind.

* * *

She spends far too much time wondering why her father is such a deadbeat.

Sure, the moment Anne had taken her first breath was the same moment her mother (one Piques Manoa) took her last, but she finds that, in her pragmatic little mind, to be irrelevant. Of course, if she had the choice, she would want her mother to be alive and well, but that wasn't how it was. Anne would be grateful with the cards she had been dealt with-that she had been dealt any cards at all-and she would decide her own way with these cards.

She sat at the table of her grandparents' little cottage on the small island Juro, in the even smaller village of Tanju. She does most of her pondering in the early days at this table, with her grandparents sneaking worried looks at her every now and then, and it is at this table that Anne decides that there is no such thing as destiny or fate. There was an end, that was somewhat inevitable, but not set in stone. There were choices, while not compulsory, that were dictated by right and wrong.

Fate and Destiny and words like it were just excuses for someone not willing to understand that they had real power over what was done in the world around them.

Anne would not attribute her mother's death to fate or her father's cowardice to destiny.

Those were only unfortunate circumstances and bad decisions, she knew. People were too stubborn for some force like destiny or fate or whatever to sweep them along in its current.

When she was seven, none of this was as nearly thought out as it is now (now being a long while from then), but the idea had been there since forever. She would be sixty years old, greying, and dying, and even then, this notion would not leave her mind.

And looking back, she realizes that that choice made her.

Not fate, nor destiny, but her. She had made herself, and while it may seem paradoxical, it's honestly like that for everyone.

People make themselves and others.

No one or thing else.

It is at her grandparents' table that Anne knows how she will live and die; and that it is her choice, and no one else's.

She is seven years old and gearing up to take on the world, even if she doesn't know what for yet.

All that she is aware of is this permanent chill against her skin and rage burning in her bones towards Heaven knows what and Anne needs something to take it out on.

That something just so happened to be criminals.

Who could honestly blame her, really?

* * *

She sells her wares (more accurately, the things she's stolen from the bottom feeders and criminals of Lougetown) along the street with a smile on her face. Money is hard to come by in Juro for farmers like Gol D. Jeremiah and Gol Judith, and Anne only wants to fatten up their savings, for their retirement of course.

She operates her business on the shady side of town, opposite of the boutiques and farmer's markets where her grandparents struggled to sell their produce.

There are plenty of questionable looking people, and even more disreputable bars and Anne's seen her father more than once on those streets, with a girl on his arm and booze in his hand.

She doesn't care.

So, Anne sells the swords and knives and guns she's stolen over the years, and she knows her stuff.

She'll rack up money faster than all the black markets combined can manage, and soon, when she walks down those streets, she will pit the fear of God into those scoundrels that called that dump home.

But that isn't now: she's still a smudge of dirt against the filthy backdrop of stained buildings and booze bottles littering the ground. She's lucky if one pirate stops to buy a gun; even luckier if a frantic fugitive buys all her stock of knives while on the run from marines.

Anne saves her money, and spends nothing.

She's got sticky fingers, and they would take her to the very top of the food chain if it killed her. (Which it would not, by the way. She wouldn't be dying until a very, very long time.)

And so Anne continues on, making a cushy little savings account for her grandparents in the process, which she hides under her bed, and discovering why the Gol family put their strength to farming and nothing else.

She socked some guy in the face and broke his nose, teeth, and eye sockets. A right hook to a thief's jaw left it unsalvageable. A frustrated swipe at a wall ended with her staring at a shrieking man in the shower holding a rubber duck.

Apparently monstrous strength ran in the family. Except her father, which was strange.

Her grandpa said it had to do with him not "possessing the Will". Whatever that meant.

There is little seven year old Piques D. Anne hasn't done in terms of business, and what surprises her more is that there is still so much to experience.

* * *

So, running from the marines was definitely a new experience.

Anne turned, while still running, to throw a nasty glare at the uniformed sailor. His face was twisted into the most horrible scowl (but not the worst she had ever seen), and he waved his sword in the are as if to emphasize the death threats being thrown her way.

And there were certainly plenty of those leaving his mouth, don't get her wrong.

Some background might be necessary.

Anne had wanted some new items for her cart.

Marine pistols were very shiny and the wood was impeccable and the kind that hardly ever got jammed, which meant she could charge a good 900 beli more for, 1,200 if she could steal it from a marine who'd made a name for himself.

Which is why she decided to nab it from the most feared marine in all of the Polestar Islands: Captain Nottingham Isedore Jerald.

He was big on cracking down on the common criminal and black market dealer and most especially pirates. Somehow pirates were becoming the main focus of the newly minted "Marines" (which was only named that a tender 150 years old that coming summer despite the actual government organization itself being as old at the World Government itself) and while the raids dwindled those in the military felt their ego boost, and thus heads began to swell. Captain Nottingham in particular.

He was a righteous bastard in Anne's opinion, always speaking to everyone as if he had never done wrong, and Anne wasn't some genius, but she wasn't an idiot either. She knew there was no such thing as an infallible human being-the very combination of words was contradictory to everything it meant to be human in the first place.

Which was why Nottingham was her target.

And also why he was chasing her.

It was fun, no doubt, but the strange looks she received while flying down the street were ones that she could go without. Nottingham screamed, and she laughed.

"You shitty little street brat!" He'd belch out at the top of his lungs.

"Fuckin' marine can't even keep track of 'is guns!" Anne would cackle on back, well aware that if her grandparents ever heard her utter the beginning of that sentence she'd be six feet under.

This was how most of the chases between the two of them went. She would run and run and run and he would holler after her, red faced and tail between legs when he decided to give up. Which was often.

Nottingham wasn't the only marine she terrorized; no, the entirety of the Marine base felt her wrath that spring (and would continue feeling it for many more years), and no one was safe from the holy terror that had no name. They started calling her, "The Gremlin".

It was catchy.

Anne liked it.

It stuck.

There were other stories, more adventures, and too many on the run situations to count past her eighth year and into her ninth.

But her tenth was definitely the most notable, by far, because that was the year Roger came.

* * *

 **So yeah.**

 **I don't really have much to say, only that I hope you like it enough to review or fav or whatever I guess.**

 **I appreciated constructive criticism, so if you have anything you guys think I could improve on, I'd be glad to hear it.**

 **Questions are welcomed.**

 **L D**


	2. Blood

**Hope you enjoy,**

 **L & D**

* * *

Anne had come to learn that if you wanted to survive, you had to expect the unexpected, always and everywhere.

Except, while Anne had taken this to heart, she had also learned that Tanju was the most predictable village on earth. You woke up, you worked (which had a healthy bit of not working, talking, and then calling it working), you ate somewhere in between waking up and working and then you would have some free time if you were lucky, and then you would go to sleep. Very structured, very boring, and very not Anne.

The whole village was well aware of the strange anomaly known as Piques D. Anne. Sure, she would do chores for her grandmother-her Maman-and would play sweet little girl with all the village folk, but she was, for a lack of a better, nicer word, vicious.

There had always been something's off about her; from the way she talked to the way she held herself as she walked down the road. It seemed like everyone knew, like everyone was consciously aware to steer clear out of her way. Well, everyone besides her grandparents, of course, who rarely asked about how she got along with people, knowing full well Anne didn't have any friends to speak of.

Anne might have been a rising figure in Loguetown's black market, but Anne was still a horrible liar. Well, moderately horrible when her grandparents were concerned. She could ball face lie to anyone besides her grandparents, absolutely anyone but them.

She could lie to children, old folk, adults, criminals, holy men, marines, and she could even lie to herself from time to time, but never, not ever to her Maman and Papa. Anne could bend the truth, omit details, and stretch the facts, sure, but never outright lie.

It was a good thing they were so very oblivious. They thought Anne was wandering out in the jungle everyday, which she did do from time to time, so not a fib, but she spent far more of her time extorting criminals and shaking down violent drunks out of their bar money, telling them to go back home to their families and get their lives together.

Anne was an unpredictable little girl-so she expected unpredictable things to happen around her.

When she heard a knock at the cottage door, it was expected.

It was midday, beautiful outside, and the neighbors probably wanted to come over and chat with her grandparents. They usually did that when they should've been tending to the fields, but no one in Tanju was ever too concerned with actually surviving or anything; everyone was way too laid back for that.

Naturally, Anne opened up the door, a greeting on her lips that quickly died when she saw who was there.

"H'llo." Said a itty bitty tyke, who barely went up to her knee (which was saying something, because she was tiny as well), and he grinned this big wide smile that was full of gaps and baby teeth that had barely come in.

"Hi." Anne returned, crouching down so that she was eye level with the kid. "Who are you?"

The little thing laughed, high pitched and loud, failing his arms-and he couldn't have been older than two years old-and Anne had this sinking feeling in her stomach.

"'m Wog'r! Uh..." He furrowed his little brow and thruster his tongue into his cheek. "Go-Gol D. Wog'r. Mmm." He puffed his chest out, looking real proud that he was able to say it properly.

Anne felt a lump in her throat as she smiled. "Roger, yeah?" He nodded at her, smiling brightly. "Roger, where are your parents?"

He made a face. "Pop ru' off." Then, he grinned. "Le'rr!" He did a little dance, clapping his hands together, then he started patting himself down.

"Le-what now?" Anne muttered to herself as he reached into a pocket and out came an envelope. "Oh." Roger offered it to her, his oddly not chubby cheeks straining from all the smiling he was doing. "Letter, that's it, right?"

Roger nodded energetically, and was bouncing on his tip-toes as Anne grabbed his tiny hand gently tugged him inside the house. She sat him down at the small, but welcoming table her Papa had built by hand. Anne's small fingers managed to rip open the envelope that simply had Gol written in barely legibly writing on the front.

She doesn't like what she reads.

Not one bit.

She cringed, and quickly scuttled off towards the back of the cottage, swinging open the back door with as much strength she could muster.

(Which was a lot, seeing as how the door flew off its hinges.)

"MAMAN!"

She shrieked so loudly that she was positive that the entire island heard her. Anne barely paused to look if her grandmother had heard her as she barreled out the door and to said guardian waving the letter at her face with frustration.

Her Maman was old, weary, but it was easy to tell that she had once been beautiful. Her black and white hair used to be the loveliest of ebony, and her dulled, strained eyes used to be the most intelligent of blues. Maman used to be beautiful, but she had grown elegant in her old age.

Anne knew that Papa could see them from the other side of the forty or so acres they owned, and that he would be joining them sooner or later. She could see him waving his straw hat at them frantically, as if to say, "Hello!", very enthusiastically. Not being in the mood to act cheerful, she unfolds the letter, cleared her throat, and began to read the drunken scrawl that was written on cheap parchment.

"The kid's name is Roger; if you haven't figured that out already. You don't need to know much about the shit-just get him off my hands. He's been a pain in my ass for a while, and I can't take care of him no more.

His birthday's on December 25. He's three.

That's basically it.

Aaron"

Anne feels her face grow exceedingly hot, and all she can think of how that dick just left his son on his own-without a word. The paper crumples in her hands and rage boils furiously inside her. Maman's face turned five shades of red, and by the time Papa had made his way across the field, Maman was preparing for war.

"Jeremiah," She said, turning on her heels so fast Anne was surprised whiplash wasn't involved, "If we ever see our son again, I'm gonna to drop kick him to the New World."

Papa gives her a strange look, but as Anne straighten out the paper balled up in her fist, his face went pale. As soon as he had read it, the trio was most certainly sharpening their metaphorical pitchforks (though they did have very real ones stored away in the barn somewhere). They all stormed back into the house, to the kitchen, where Roger was still sitting at the table, swinging his legs and humming a jaunty little tune.

"Roger," Anne chirped, deceivingly pleasant as she lifted the boy up in a swift, strong motion, cradling him in her arms with ease. She adjusted him upright, balancing him on her hip with the both of them facing her-their-grandparents. "Roger, this is Maman and Papa." Her eyes meet theirs, just for a second there is sadness and heartache exchanged, but she quickly adopts a smile that Roger mimicked immediately.

Papa grins, and it is clear that smiles were hereditary in the Gol family.

"Heya, squirt." Papa ruffles Roger's thick head of pitch black hair with fondness usually reserved for Anne and Maman. But Roger was apart of the family now; that was undeniable. The boy giggles, and all is seemingly right with the world at that moment.

At least, until everyone really thinks about who Roger is, and where he's been, and who he's been with.

There is a tacit silence shared among Anne and her grandparents.

Gol Aaron was not a pleasant man. He drank too much, smoked more than a fire, and lived only for booze and women. How he had managed to keep a child alive, for three years, no less, is nothing short of a miracle.

Roger probably didn't know who his mother was; and he was probably only vaguely aware of was it meant to have a family. He was skin and bones-no doubt due to Aaron's drunken forgetfulness-and he had a gaunt, sullen face that clashed with his bright eyes and smile in the most heartrending way.

Anne wants to scream.

There she was, doing business in her father's hunting grounds, never bothering to notice that he was an idiot with liquor and girls-three things that should never go together, but somehow always do. Anne never noticed Roger-maybe Roger had never even left his house before, and Anne would have noticed jack shit and there is guilt that creeps into her bones like poison.

Anne can attest, even years upon years later, she still remembers how Roger smiled at her, and how her guilt-her guilt of everything she's ever done wrong, but never her regret-was slowly killing her.

That was the day Anne first felt unfathomable guilt.

It would not be the last.

* * *

Roger had Anne wrapped around his little finger merely days after his arrival. She found herself sharing every hidden base, every secret she had, to a three year old. It probably wasn't very smart in hindsight, but Roger just had these eyes full of wonder and insatiable curiosity that made her want to tell him that everything he would ever need or want to know.

It's a week after Roger came and he's been told everything there is to know about Piques D. Anne. Granted, it was a long shot-a really long shot-to say that he remembered any of it, but it was the principle that mattered.

It is a week and a half before they take it upon themselves to go find adventure.

It doesn't end very well for the people who weren't Anne or Roger, but that didn't matter because those two are basically the whole plot at this point. (But don't tell them that, they-meaning Anne-would probably get a big head about it.)

It starts like this:...ladybugs.

Seems harmless, right?

Ladybugs are cute little things, absolute incarnations of good luck and all that jazz.

Right?

Wrong.

While Juro was one of the more tame island of the Polestar Archipelago, the one thing that was absolutely terrifying about it were the enormous ladybugs. Those suckers got about two meters tall and weighed about 42 kilograms and they were the most disturbing things ever.

Anne woke up a week and a half after Roger had gotten dropped off and rolled out of bed with the grace of a drunk donkey. She got dressed-in her standard white blouse and navy blue jumper, complete with bare feet and a black flat cap-and marveled at how much she looked like she belonged in a musical before scurrying off to the kitchen.

There was Papa, munching on his toast and shoveling eggs into his mouth. Maman sipped on orange juice and nibbled at some sausage and an apple. Roger, on the other hand, was wolfing down food like a little vacuum and it was honestly just a little bit scary.

Anne doesn't bother commenting on Roger's lacking table manners; not like Papa's were any better.

She grabs some toast, steals sausage from Maman's plate and almost gets her hand bitten off when she reached for some of Roger's strawberries. She manages to snag one, and thankfully kept her hand in the process.

That boy was an eater, that was for sure.

She ran and hops up on the countertop, admiring the newest addition to their little family with zeal.

"Maman!" Anne chirped, chipper and very not like Anne as she swung her legs back and forth.

Her grandmother took a sip of orange juice, and then set the glass down gently. "Yes, Anne?"

The girl rolled her eyes at the quaintness of it all, before leaning forward, almost falling of the counter with eagerness. "I wanna take Roger explorin'."

"Explorin'?" Papa parroted back to her with wide eyes, "Why, the boy's jus' got here and you wanna go take him explorin'?"

Maman doesn't say anything-she merely glanced at Papa before taking a bite of sausage with a contemplative look on her face.

"Yeah, I mean, he's gotta learn how to get himself around sometime or 'nother, right" Anne knows her argument is very, very valid. They couldn't take care of a baby and the crops at the same time. It might've been different if Papa were just a tad younger, and stronger, but he wasn't. They were getting old and they knew it and Anne knew it also. Anne could take care of herself; and her grandparents knew that she would teach Roger to take care of himself just the same. "I already knew the island back to front when I was his age."

"Anne, you're a peculiar child; ya can't just expect yer brother to be the same." Papa muttered under his breath, sharing a look with Maman as he realized the battle was already lost.

Anne puffed her cheeks out, indignation raising up in her breast. "He's my brother-he'll be plenty strange! Don't write 'im off as normal just yet!"

Maman just shook her head and smiled.

"Anne, take your brother and go have fun."

That was all she needed.

Anne squeaked-very high pitched-and swept Roger into her arms. After some adjusting, the tyke was on her back without a problem, all wide-eyed as she laughed. "Wrap your arms around my neck and hold on tight, alright?"

Roger giggled at her, nodding firmly. His hair fell all into his face, covering his eyes and Anne and Maman shared a look.

That mop would be trimmed back by the end of the week, that was for sure.

And with this the door swung open with a loud crack.

Anne and Roger were off, and the sound of laughter echoed through the village; turning head and bringing wistful smiles to the faces off all who hear.

(Anne and Roger always did sound the best when the two words had the conjunction and in between them. Sooner than later that would be how it was-Anne and Roger but never one or the other. Always Anne and Roger.)

"Okay, so, Roger, how much to you know about Juro?"

"Juwo?" He questioned, loudly, and right in her ear. "Wha's dat?"

"The island, of course." She stated as they crossed the field, heading straight for the forest. "Juro is the island, which is apart of the Polestar Archipelago, and we live in Tanju, the village." To emphasize the village part she abruptly turned and pointed to said community.

Anne couldn't see Roger's face, but judging by his silence, it was likely he didn't get any of that. So, she turned the conversation to a more childish topic as walked along one of the many paths in the forest, intended to make travel easier, but mostly used by Anne to locate more isolated sections of wood.

"What's your favorite food, Roger?"

The child thrashed his legs and clapped his hands together in a moment of pure enthusiasm; "Thabewwies!"

"Strawberries?" Anne clarified, enunciating carefully, hoping that doing such a thing would get him to say his words properly, "You don't like sausage? Maman makes the best sausage."

He considers her words with a short period of thoughtful humming. "Bwown stuff? Smell good?"

"Yeah. It tastes better than it looks. Well, not all meat is like that but sausage definitely is." Anne suddenly takes a right, into a thicket of bushes and underbrush that looked particularly wild. "Anyway, I like bananas. Bananas are good."

Roger squealed, obviously agreeing.

They chatter some more, talking about nothing in Anne's opinion, but it just made Roger so happy to have someone listen to his noisy babbling. Half the time his sentences weren't even coherent or understandable in any way, shape, or form, but Anne always nodded and laughed and made an effort to try and translate what he was saying.

They were about two hours into their little adventure when it happened.

The ladybugs appeared.

It all occurred very fast; Anne was laughing, Roger was chattering away in her ear, and then bam!

A giant ladybug came hurdling at the two children.

Anne shrieked in surprise and Roger blew a raspberry its way (not the best way to react to a giant bug, but Roger proved himself to be strange when it came to danger in the years to come). Faster than a bullet out of a gun, Anne was high tailing it to the river. Roger's peels of laughter echoing through the forest, and Anne was sure that Maman and Papa could probably hear the child's cackling.

"Touch! Touch!" He crowed happily as Anne ran so fast her feet barely touched the ground. Anne could feel him start to let go of her neck and quickly rectified his error in judgement.

"No, Roger, that's a bad ladybug, no touch!" She yelled as she pulled his arms back to where they belonged.

From behind them, the ladybug roared, it's creepy huge eyes refracting light in a way that promised a painful death. Anne felt her eyes water just a little bit. Just a little. And it was only because of the dust in the air, for certain.

At first it was only one ladybug. Then it was two. Then three. Then twenty.

Anne was not happy.

Roger seemed to be having a blast.

She had long pasted the river, and found a trail that probably led back to some poor farmer's fields, but Anne wasn't in the position to be thinking about other people. Roger and herself were the main priorities, and if a field had to be trampled and eaten by ravenous ladybugs then so be it.

She took and abrupt right turn, and dashed straight into a rice field.

More specifically, Yoshu-san's rice fields.

Now, Yoshu Taro was a middle aged man who had had a wife, three kids, and a temper that rivaled her own; not that anyone knew that. He was prone to bouts of drunkenness and alcoholism-and even if his long gone family wouldn't admit it, Anne had seen Yoshu Mei with poorly hidden bruises once or twice. It was one of the many downsides of living on a relatively small island with an agricultural focus. People could be kilometers away from each other, and everyone had a sort of 'not my problem' attitude about them that one would think uncharacteristic of a small community, but in actuality was more common than not.

Anne, to say it kindly, very much disliked Yoshu-san.

She felt absolutely no remorse as those ladybugs laid waste to his crop, and Roger didn't either, if his giggling was anything to go by.

She cackled, Roger did too, and then she ran.

She ran as far and as fast as she could, mostly because she was half decent at it, and a little because she loved the thumping of her heart in her chest and the sound of her feet slapping against the ground. She runs all the way back home-just in time to avoid suspicion, and also watch giant ladybugs invade Tanju.

Her grandparents talk about the historic Ladybug Invasion of June 2 that night at dinner and discuss the probability of the village becoming apart of the ladybugs' yearly migration route.

Anne keeps her mouth shut, and Roger claps his hands, yelling, "Lad'bog!", to her grandparents' amusement.

Anne recalls that day as being the first of many adventures she and Roger shared. It is the beginning of the Polestar Islands' very own Delinquent Duo.

* * *

 _"Many, many years later, our adventures were all wore out, you see. The names Anne and Roger didn't seem to fit quiet right anymore; the infamy associated with it all overruled any happiness it use to inspire._

 _Roger left on his own adventures, soon enough, but a long time after that first incident with the ladybugs. I'm sure he did it because he couldn't stand that town. It was too small, too small for a man like Roger, and too small for a woman like me._

 _I assume it's also because I left._

 _The brine and waves lured me away into wondrous notions. Having fun, causing trouble...being free._

 _I left Roger on his own, both of us knowing that if I stayed, it would kill me._

 _I guess the same happened to him._

 _Normalcy was suffocating-and I am for certain that had we stayed; had we let our dreams vanish into the breeze-everything that made us, us, would have withered and died."_

* * *

 **I realize that this may or may not be slow for some people, but I think it's good to get the to know a character and their situation before getting into the adventure. But that's coming up soon too so don't worry.**

 **Please drop in a review, if you have anything to say; I'd love to hear anything you guys have to offer.**

 **Over and Out,**

 **L & D**


	3. Business

**Sorry for being away for so long-I was on a travel trip with my sports team and couldn't update anything at all, but here I am again.**

 **Please excuse any grammatical or spelling mistakes.**

 **I sincerely hope you enjoy,**

 **L & D**

* * *

There was a routine that the Gol household adhered to religiously after they settled themselves with their newest member.

Maman would make breakfast, Papa would stretch out his tired muscles, and Anne would set the table after getting Roger washed up. They would eat whatever they could afford.

It was simple, repetitive, but familiar in a way that Anne adored. She needed something consistent like breakfast in her life-nothing too normal, just normal enough to the degree that it was human necessity. She needed to eat, and so she ate. It was as plain as that.

What wasn't _nearly_ as simple was running her operation in Loguetown and managing to help Papa on the farm everyday.

She had to cut her hours back; a lot, and much more than she could afford, to be frank. Then there was the issue of her aging grandparents. They were getting up there in years, and aching bones and life on the farm tended not to agree very well with each other; even if Papa did have the strength of ten men put together. Anne knew that either she or Roger would have to pick up the slack-her most likely until Roger was old enough to work the land-and even then, it seemed like a condemnation of sorts.

Anne was ten years old, but she knew that she wanted to live. She wouldn't stay tethered down to one place, much less a farm. She loved her family, but she just _couldn't_ live that sort of life.

Not that she would ever tell them that, of course.

Until the day Anne would seek her place in the world, she made it work. Mornings and most of the afternoon were for helping Papa tend to the fields. Evenings were dedicated to helping her operation flourish. (Well, relatively speaking. It was hard for a ten year old to make anything flourish, especially complicated things like businesses.)

Except, Roger threw a loop in her schedule, as he did for most things. She was basically his main caretaker, all things considered. Maman had to do what she did best-quilting-to make money on the side where their profit from the harvest fell short. Maman needed peace and quiet when she worked her magic; two things Roger was absolutely horrible at. Thus, he was Anne's charge. And as Anne's charge, Roger had to go where she went, and so was her conundrum.

The unrespectable parts of Loguetown weren't the sort of places a child should be in, under any circumstances. Anne tried to reason that he had already been there before-hell, he was probably born there-and she also made regular visits to said congregation of unsavory characters herself. Anne had her morals, but she also had secrets to keep and a business to run.

She could take care of Roger-that was the easy part.

Staying out of trouble would be the challenging bit.

This whole train of thought occurred at the table, while Anne was chewing at her toast very slowly. Roger threw some porridge at her, and she expertly dodged it while he giggle. Maman looked unamused, seeing as she would be the one forcing Anne to clean it up later.

"Anne?" Papa bellowed happily, rubbing his stomach.

She hummed, signaling that she was listening. Sort of, at least.

Papa stared at her, and she realized he wanted a verbal response, so, "Yes, Papa?"

He grinned, satisfied, taking a gulp of coffee before he continued. "What are ya plannin' to do today? Since there ain't much work to be done in the fields. You gonna go to the river?"

Anne hummed, scrunching her face up thoughtfully. "I guess. I'mma just wander 'bout, like I norm'lly do. Find a new hidin' place maybe." She took another bite of toast.

Her grandfather laughed, slapping his knee in a way only grandfathers can do. "Annie, you and yer hidin' places. You've got too many of those as is!" He gave her an impish, almost childish grin. "Ya ever gonna show any 'em to me?"

"It ain't much of a hidin' place if ya know where it is." Anne informed him blandly, attempting to be serious, but after a second or two of them staring at each other in silence, they cracked simultaneous smiles.

Maman shook her head from across the table.

"Roger, your sister's a lil' bit crazy, ain't she?"

Roger squealed, "Annie's da bestest! Yup!"

"Roger," Anne said, flapping a hand in his direction in faux embarrassment, "You flatter me."

Roger stares at her blankly for a second before turning back to Maman. "Sausage!"

"Why's it that ya can only say 'Annie' and 'sausage' correctly?" Papa crowed in amusement as he pounded his fist on the table. Anne snorted delightedly, shoving the rest of her toast into her mouth as she scuttled over to Roger, and picked him us.

"Because he likes me and sausage best, obviously Papa." She informed him as she swung Roger around so that he was piggy-back riding essentially. "We're gonna head off. Is that a'ight?"

Maman and Papa shared the universal, 'Do we really have any say in the matter' look, complete with mutually raised eyebrows and everything. Anne shuffled to the door, and opened it-gently for once-and after it closed quietly behind her, Anne craned her neck around uncomfortably to give Roger a look. He practically beamed at her, exposing all the gaps in between what few teeth he had.

"You realized it too?" Anne questioned as he blew a raspberry at her. "Yeah," Anne smirked, "Maman totally forgot to make me clean up that porridge."

The raven haired girl let out a cackle that definitely would have sounded insane if anyone had heard it.

"Annie, go!" Roger demanded, kicking his sister in the side with his heel.

Anne gasped, obviously faking (well, maybe not so obvious to Roger), and stumbled forward two steps.

"I've been shot! The mighty Roggiekins has vanquished me!"

She felt Roger flail on her back for a second before he shook her shoulders, "Annie, Annie, 'm sowwy, Annie don' die, pleases, Annie!"

Anne laughed, spinning in tight circles abruptly; that definitely shut Roger up. He hated being dizzy.

"Just kidding!" She screeched and she took off running towards town.

The ferry left from the village dock-which was rather isolated. Anne could only assume that it was because people didn't seem to use it very often when it wasn't time to go to Loguetown for the farmer's market. This set up always was a blessing; Anne could get on that ferry without the captain even knowing and get back on without him knowing again, and nobody else was ever at the dock, so nobody could ever see her. Which was a good thing, because Anne didn't need somebody ratting on her to her grandparents and ruining everything she had built up.

Anne ran, taking mostly back ways and dark alleys to the Sunshine Dock. Anne loved the irony that accompanied every visit to the Sunshine Dock. It was a gloomy place and the waters were at their murkiest just beyond the very nearly rotting wood of the dock itself. Sunshine Dock was therefore generally (and rightly) regarded as the most unpleasant place on the island. Roger seemed to agree, if his squirming had anything to say about it.

They arrived with time to spare, and Anne tiptoed around empty rum barrels and old, discarded fishing equipment so that she remained unseen. Not that she really needed to; she was naturally a very stealthy person to begin with, so getting into places she shouldn't be came just as quickly to her as sneaking about. Her brother wriggled on her back, letting out a soft, impatient whine at her.

"Shh." She breathed out at him, place of a finger on her lips. "Quiet now; we don't wanna get caught." Her words are are light the rustling of leaves in autumn-quiet, and somehow so very urgent sounding.

Anne darts forwards, using the ropes and riggings to jump on the boat with minimal movement, and monkeyed her way up to the ship's stern*. She ignored Roger's suddenly tightened grip, and how she could practically feel his heart beating out of his chest. His breath quivered in her ear, and Anne paused only to flit her eyes over to see the huge, amazed expression on his face as he looked out into the horizon.

That is always the right expression to have when you looked out into the sea, Anne thought approvingly.

She didn't acknowledge the feeling in her bones that that look meant to so much than just simple amazement. It would be the start of a love affair between Roger and the ocean that would never die (not that she knew that).

There was a dip in the ship at it's stern that was uncommon in other's like it, just a few feet above the waterline* and that was where Anne sat most of the time for the ten minute ferry ride.

Having Roger along with her was exciting-and slightly aggravating to say the least. She had swung him around so that he was on her lap, and every time a wave crashed against the ferry and splashed all the way up to them, he would squeal and reach out to grab the water. He did this, without fail, every single time waves battered the boat. Naturally, it got boring after a while.

Thank all that was good in the world that the ride was only ten minutes; Anne could only take so much.

And you could believe it when Anne caught a glimpse of Loguetown, and was safely within range, she jumped off that sucker like no tomorrow. Roger clung onto her, grinning like a mad...child?...all the while.

When her feet hit the ground she took off running. Anne zipped through town-knowing exactly where to go and how to get there like it was second nature (it practically was at this point). She hid her cart a good block off from where she actually set up shop, and the black tarp she covered over it always blended in nicely to the dark alley way she stashed it in.

It took minimal effort for her to lug it to its rightful place on Trace Boulevard-notorious for its black market trade.

"What do you think, Roger?" Anne asked the child, who was on her shoulders now, as far away from the deadly weapons as Anne could manage without letting him go. Trace Blvd was sketchy; and some people had no reservations about nabbing a child to sell to a slaver. Anne had run into those folk more than a couple of times, and they made her skin crawl. So, letting Roger go for even a second was out of the question.

"Hmmm." He replied, drumming in her head. "Good." He appraised, smacking her head to the side with strength appropriate only to someone in the Gol family. Anne shook her shoulders in retaliation, but Roger seemed to be more pleased by it than annoyed.

Roger chattered at her, and she pretended to listen while she pulled up an old milk bottle crate, and flipped it over next to her cart so that she could sit on it. It was, after all, pretty early in the morning, and customers started showing up after they all got over their respective hangovers.

It was slow going at first. Men stumbling down the street would spit at her rather than stop and buy anything. Women spared her a sharp glance with impossibly tired eyes while they dragged their feet down the road. Roger practically snarled at everyone, and that was probably why they didn't stop, if she thought about it.

A few hours had passed-how many exactly, Anne didn't know-but judging from the sun, it was 10...ish. Belonging to a poor farming family had its perks after all; being able to tell time by the sun just happened to be one of them. (Because they couldn't afford clocks and the sun was kinda hard to miss, so it worked all the same.)

She had closed her eyes for a second, a second, and when she opened them again, there was her number one customer, right up in her face.

"Annie-bananie! What d'ya got fer me?"

She cracked open one eye, winced as Roger kicked her ribs, and sighed at the teenager in front of her. "I dunno, Walter. What kind of trouble are ya plannin' on gettin' into today?"

He laughed, throwing his head back all the way, raggedy brown hair flying everywhere. "Oh, ya know, the usual. Piss Nottingham off, check out the pirates comin' in fer supply runs. Jerk 'round."

"Stop it with the language in front of the kid." Anne nagged without even looking his way. She hopped to her feet and rummaged around her cart. After a few seconds, she pulled out a tanto knife and a shoddy pistol. "That'll be 800 beri please."

"800! Anne, you gotta be kiddin' me!" Walter bats pretty green eyes her way, flipping his hair to the side as if to be charming. "How about 450? For your favorite customer?"

Anne rolled her eyes. "Walter, that's a better deal than anybody else is gonna give you. All the other sellers would charge you 1,200 and you know it." She extends her little hand expectingly. "Money."

The fifteen year old grumbled at her as he forked over the proper amount of cash and Anne gladly lets him snatch up his newest weapons.

"By the way," He starts, tucking his knife into a belt loop and his pistol in an inside pocket, "Who's the kid?"

"M'brother."

The brunette balks. "Brother? When you get yourself one of those? He looks pretty old-or young, or whatever, but Annie, you didn't tell me? I'm hurt!" Walter lurched forward, presumably to snatch Roger off of her to give her poor brother a hug.

Luckily, Roger was a feisty one.

That kid sank his teeth right into Walters outstretched hand, and Anne relished the amazing sound of his shrieking. He was her best customer, sure, but also her most annoying.

Anne followed up by kicking him the the shin. "Keep yer grimy hands of m'brother!"

Roger laughed at the look of sudden pain on Walter's face.

Anne was also suddenly very concerned about her brother's health- "Roger, ya don't know where this boy's been! He could've had all kinds of dirt and sick on 'im!

"Annie-!" Walter protested as she dangerously raised an eyebrow. He stared at her a second then pointed down the alley. "Imma leave now..."

"Good choice." Anne praised as he turned, head bowed and downtrodden as he dragged his feet all the way out of sight.

With a long, suffering sigh, Anne sat back down on her milk crate. "Roger, it's gonna be a long day if that was our only sale."

"Hmm." He said. "Annie, sausage."

"Roger, no."

She said nothing more when he kicked her in the ribs again.

As Anne, predicted, it was a long day, but there were still some upsides.

Hacker Joe was on the run from his land shark again, and stopped by to order seven knives for 2,500 beri. Six Finger Ryuunosuke armed himself with a rifle with only the explanation that he was late paying his Ope* dealer-and Anne promptly told him he hadn't bought the ridiculously over overpriced gun (3,000 beri) from her. She didn't feel bad for upping the price from 700 at all. If she was gonna risk being involved with stuff like that, she'd better get her money's worth. Mora Martha bought a very nice wakizashi for "recreation" at the reasonable price of 1,500 beri. Considering all the trouble Anne had went through to get it, (essentially she had had to rob a sleeping mercenary) it was, in fact, very well priced.

Anne inspected her money pouch, and was fairly satisfied with her profits. Roger grappled with her hair so he could sneak a peak over her head, and as soon as he wiggled his money toes in the direction of her pouch she had it stuffed inside her dress.

"Roger, if I let you play with this, you will, without doubt, drop it and send all my money flying."

He didn't seem to hear a word she said; all he did was stare wide eyed at a beri she had left on the cart.

"Treasureee-" He cried, attempting to jump off Anne's shoulders.

Anne squeaked, holding onto his knees and this action, ultimately led to the both of them falling flat on their faces. Roger sniffles, as any regular three year old would do upon falling, and Anne scowled as she clutched at her bleeding nose. They both scrambled to their feet, Anne lunging forward just in time to grab Roger's arm before he could take off.

She dragged the pouting toddler back to the milk cart, and set him in her lap.

"Nice try." She muttered at the squirming three year old.

Roger grumbled at her, not at all pleased.

Like Anne cared if he was pleased or not, she was there to keep him safe.

She absentmindedly petted his soft black hair while he fidgeted. Anne watched people pass her by, and occasionally listened.

A particular conversation between two men-pirates or nasty sailors by the looks of it-drinking foul smelling whiskey caught her interest.

One of the men was short and stocky, with greying hair and an unkept beard and spoke with a slight lisp on his tongue as he said, "Beni, did you hear about that sthunt thosthe Marinesth plan on doing?"

The man who was Beni-average looking, if a little dirty-hiccuped and pointed at his companion. "Yeh, I 'eard. Somethin' about wantin' ta show the East whose boss. 'Cause people here are stubborn. The North and the South and the West're complacent and shit but the East," A glint flashes on his eye as he leans foward, his glass raised, "The East Blue just doesn't know when ta lie down and say uncle."

Anne felt shivers crawl up her spine, and her grip on Roger got just a little bit tighter as she enveloped him in a tense embrace. He whined at her, but she fussed at him to stay quiet.

The two men kept on talking, but left the conversation about that particular subject alone for the rest of their chatting.

Anne had never felt so disturbed about anything-and she had seen plenty, done plenty. She hated the feeling in her chest and closed up shop faster than she could ever remember doing before. The cart was covered, back in its proper spot, and hidden in the shadows before you could say, "Wait-".

The curly black haired little girl carried Roger on her back, just like before, took a short detour for a cloak, and made quick work of reaching the dock.

The ferry was slightly late. They didn't have much business at 4:00 in the afternoon, after all, but Anne made it on board without being seen all the same.

When they get home, Anne says nothing about the words spoken by the two men. They scare her-and nothing scares her-and she doesn't even know if what they said was true, so why worry everyone else?

Life continues.

Until it doesn't

There comes a day Anne sorely regrets, with all her being, the decision she made that day.

If only she had told someone.

If only.

* * *

" _But those regrets, those if onlys were just that. If only. I can't change what I decided, I can't change what happened that day. The choice was mine, and I unfortunately made a poor, stupid choice. One that my family, with their lives, would pay in full._

 _That was so long ago, and I have healed. I do not regret any longer, and though I feel guilt, it doesn't hold me back. Trust when I say I have made mistakes, and the one I am going to tell you about is merely the first._

 _I have made so many mistakes and will continue to make more-that's just the way things are meant to be, I suppose._

 _Imperfect and heartbreaking, with brief interludes of happiness."_

* * *

 **I really don't know if you folks like, or even care about these little quotations at the end but I'd really like your opinion on anything you think could be better in some way.**

 **Thanks for reading, and if you could, drop in a review if convenient.**

 **Over and Out,**

 **L & D**


	4. Higher Ground

**First, I forgot to mention in the previous update, but I really appreciate the people who have favorited, followed and review. Even if there are some readers who haven't done the thing above, I am still grateful for your time. Thanks for reading!**

 **Warning: There's some graphic stuff of the chapter and a character (or multiple) deaths that are sometimes described. I personally think it isn't anything too intense, but please use caution before beginning to read. I dunno I was listening to so much Nirvana while writing this and I could have possibly been slightly desensitized whilst enjoying some good old fashion grunge.**

* * *

Two weeks pass, and Anne pushed the conversation between the two men, and her irrational fear of it to the back of her mind. She doesn't forget, necessarily, but she doesn't think about it either.

It scares her; it completely _terrifies_ her. She can't even comprehend why the notion of marines ' _showing the East who's boss_ ' frightened her so much, but she feels it in her bones, and it aches. But Anne just chalked it up to gossiping sailors with booze clouding up their words.

She doesn't acknowledge the foreboding in her chest.

She just continued on, like everything was completely normal.

But then, it happened.

The clouds started rolling in, and the air changed, and the wind was furious. This occurrence alone had put everyone on edge. Bad weather was unusual in the East Blue, but they did have storms every now and again.

That wasn't the issue though.

It was the fact that it had sprung up out of no where-there was normally some sort of warning, like the air getting colder or the waves turning rough very abruptly-and that didn't happen. It was sunny skies one minute, and the next the fringe of the horizon was a was ominous and cruel noir, descending upon them like the ravaging tempest it was.

That sort of storm was considered an ill omen in those parts.

"What do you think, Jeremiah?" Maman asked her grandfather worriedly, sending Anne's contemplative mood to a screeching halt.

Her Papa sighed. "I dun like it. Not one bit. Old Lady Mary says it's a tempest fer the ages. And Old Lady Mary's never wrong."

Old Lady Mary was the village's elder. She had seen many summers, many springs, and Old Lady Mary knew her stuff. She was, like, 100 years old or something like that. She just couldn't seem to drop dead-or act the least bit old for that matter. Needless to say, Old Lady Mary was probably the only person on Juro that gave Anne the chills. Maybe it was her glass eye, but that was mere speculation on Anne's part for the most. But that eyes was certainly a primary component to Old Lady Mary's eccentricness; it completed in full the unsettling feeling that the old mateon emitted in spades.

Maman grumble a bit as she flipped some rather unappetizing buckwheat pancakes. "I agree. I don't like it, Jeremiah. I don't like it one bit. It just don't sit right." The woman flipped the pancakes expertly, and Anne got a waft of buckwheat that she could have most certainly gone without.

"Maman," Anne whined childishly as she stole some of Roger's apple slices. "What're we gonna do about the cabbages? You and Papa and me did all that work and none of its gonna survive this thing. Ain't we gonna do something' about it?"

"I don't know. Maybe use tarps?" Papa suggested, before Maman could even get a word out.

Maman let out an irritated breath. "Tarps are expensive; you know that."

"But useful enough." Anne noted. Maman shoot her the look. "Or not. Forget I said anythin' geez…"

Roger flailed in his high chair, baring his teeth at Anne for the loss of his apple slice. The kid knew how to hold a grudge. The ten year old swiftly dodged a stray spoon flying her way, and stifled her laughter as it smack the back of Maman's head. The aging woman turned her head around, very slowly, and in a manner that was reminiscent of a vengeful ghost, hauntingly gaunt shadows over her face and everything.

"Do you two have anything to tell me?" Maman questioned gently, and it was all very misleading. Had she not had an intense black miasma around her, Anne would've thought she was asking about the weather.

"Uh-" Anne spluttered, pointing at Roger. "He did it. I didn' do anythin'. I swear."

There was a glint in Maman's eye that was not good for Anne's continued existence.

A beat of silence filled the small abode, and it was only broken when Maman turned her focus back on her pancakes.

"The matter remains that a storm is coming and we need to get ready for it." Maman asserted as she stacked the last of the pancakes up.

"But I hate barring the windows up! It's torture!" Anne howled tragically, Roger soon following suit. "Maman, it's like we're cag'd up animals! It ain't fair!"

"It don't matter if it's fair, Anne. Your safety is always more important than your comfortability." Maman brushed her whining off like it was nothing and it peeved Anne just a bit. Not to sorely or anything, but enough.

Papa laughed. "Judith, you and yer big words. 'Comfortability'! Ain't nobody say that 'round these parts."

Maman grumbled, massaging her temples while she set the plate of pancakes on the table. "Just eat and stop givin' me headaches ya mongrels."

For that brief moment in time, as Anne sat at that table, with sunlight filtering in through the windows and a breath drifting on in through the cracks in the walls and doors, she felt what it was like to truly not have a care in the entire world.

Roger was at her side, laughing, kicking his feet more for the fun of it that any real animosity. Papa munched at his food, that got stuck in a full beard more often than not. And Maman leaned on their counter, her eyes warm as she watched her family. The sight was truly something to behold; a family meal at its best, chaos and quaintness all rolled up into one.

Anne allowed herself a smile that was for no one but her, and looked down at her plate piled high with dark brown and gritty pancakes that she really didn't like all that much. She hated those pancakes. But she always did love Maman enough to choke them down after drowning them in any kind of sugary syrup they had on hand.

That is the last time she ever got the chance to hate those pancakes.

She wishes she could sit at that table and loath them again without feeling nostalgia creep under her skin.

* * *

The weather was fearsome.

The wind sent shingles flying and tree branches hurtling of their trunks and the waves grew so large that people were concerned about the village getting massive flooding. The sky was a muddled ebony, with freakish bolts of lightning, that, when they hit the ocean it was like a whale doing a cannonball.

There was much talk about hurricanes, and whether this storm was one, but no one really made any effort to confirm anything based on a scientific standpoint. They were, after all, a farming community, and asking more questions than necessary was just tiring.

It wasn't the storm itself that was the problem-it was the duration of it all. A week of nothing but rain and wind was never good for Juro. Plants drowned, and so did there cultivators in piles and piles of debt.

This was actually the most terrifying part of the storm for everyone. Their livelihoods were on the line, and unless you were blessed with miracle crops, you were handing your children and grandchildren a sentence to a lifetime of farming.

The fact remained that the storm was still dangerous, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. It was raining too hard to tend to the fields, and too windy to fish or sail at all. So, basically, there was absolutely nothing to do. Thus resulting in Maman forcing Anne, Roger, and by principle, Papa, to stay indoors.

Thus, they had no warning when it started.

Only sudden, sharp, and bone chilling screams.

Years and years later, it would be remembered (or more accurately, forgotten) as the first, and only, Buster Call to be executed in the East Blue.

That moment, in Anne's recollection, was hell.

Out of the small cracks of their boarded up windows, all Anne could see was fire. Fire and fire and more fire. There were tornadoes of flame and dust and it just swallowed everything up whole: the village and the people desperately trying to run away. They never got far; always being swept off their feet at the last moment and dragged into their own deaths.

The sight was nauseating.

Maman blanched when she looked out the window, and her and Papa shared a look so brief that not even Anne, who was an expert at deciphering their secret language, could make out. She didn't even have time to protest as Maman threw her over her should and scooped up Roger out of his high chair and into her arms.

Roger wailed so loud, so very loud, and Anne was sure that the salt at her lips wasn't from dinner.

Anne hadn't known her Maman could run as fast as she did. She ran and ran, and she ran even when Anne knew that her joints were cracking painfully and that her feet were swelling up. Maman ran past the edge of the forest, past the brook, past the oldest tree on the island, and she kept running. She ran until her legs gave out, and all three of them came crashing to a halt.

Anne hiccuped, tears dripping off her cheeks, and Roger cried, snot everywhere, and Maman sobbed. Anne couldn't tell if it was from relief or terror.

Just for a moment, one, shining moment, Anne thought that Papa was going to come running after them, and then they'd steal a boat and sail off to some other Blue, or maybe even the Grandline.

Anne didn't care.

As long as if was away from the screaming.

"...-nne! Anne!"

And she was brought back to her senses, like she always was, and Maman shook her shoulders ferociously.

"Anne. Listen to me." There was silence, and Anne felt her stomach churn. She was going to be sick. "Anne," Her Maman continued, "I'm going back for your Papa, so stay here, hide, and if we're not back by nightfall, make sure you get off this island. I know your as crafty as I am."

"Ya can't." Anne said. Or she thought she said. It came out more as a hoarse croak than her really saying anything. "Ya can't. Ya can't just leave. What-" Anne paused, holding her head as if to still the light headedness that was drowning her and she gulped, loudly. "What if you don't come back? I ain't-I ain't no adult. I can't-"

Maman's eyes steeled, and she gripped Anne's shoulder tight.

"I can't leave your Papa. Annie, I can't. He's old, Annie, and he ain't the man he used to be, but he'll act like it. He's gonna tell them marines they ain't gonna burn that house down, and he'll get himself killed in the process. Annie, I'll be damned if I don't at least try to get him out her so we can escape together." Her Maman quiets, and Anne is sure that this is the first time in her life that she has seen her grandmother so terrified. Her hands shook, and her breath was shallow, and her eyes were so terribly wide. "Oh, Annie, but I don't want to leave you, or Roger." Her breath hitched. "Annie, I ain't got that Will your Papa always talks about, but I can make due. I'll come back if he ain't gonna listen. I just can't leave my babies on their own." Maman pressed a kiss her her forehead, then onto Roger's tear stained cheek.

"Hide." She whispered for turning to the other direction. She ran.

Anne knew that her Maman must've been in so much pain, but she ran anyway. Anne always knows that she didn't stop until she reached that house that she had grown up in.

Anne knows with all of her heart.

Anything less just wouldn't have been Maman.

And so the girl whose home was aflame sat in the dead husk of a tree. It had taken some effort to squeeze into it and then to make sure they were far enough up the hollow trunk to be unseen, but Anne had managed.

Then she waited.

Those next few hours were the longest of her life.

And the screams only got closer and closer.

Anne and Roger sat in an eerie silence, one of the likes that she had never experienced with her brother in her arms, and she shivered at the sweat that pooled in the dip of her collarbone and down the arch of her back. Her curls stuck to her scalp and she knew her face was most likely a deathly pale.

Anne had never had pure, unadulterated fear in her veins but this was it. This was it.

Then there were footsteps.

And then hope.

And then blood.

Anne felt her vision blur as she saw her Maman, stumbling, crimson on her check and her hand pressed against her side. The dark stain marring her working dress was so clearly her Maman's lifeblood, and there was simply nothing else it could have been. There were men in uniform on her heels, with a fridges snarl on the faces and cruelty in their eyes. They were so slow. So agonizingly slow. As if they were jogging after her dying grandmother for the fun of it. As if they were mocking her in her dying moments.

On Maman's head was a straw hat, free of any thick red liquid, any sign of fraying, and against all odds, looked like the only thing the world hadn't ruined. It's ribbon, blue and lovely by all accounts, seemed stark against the backdrop of crimson.

Anne's whole body quaked, and she felt like the earth was being ripped open, her whole self laid out bare with raw emotion that she didn't know what to do with herself. She thought she was going to die, then and there. Her everything hurt; it pained her so very badly and she could only barely stop herself from screaming as Maman tripped over her own feet.

She fell face first into the ground, and Papa's hat flew off her head and into the breeze, tumbling a good ten meters away from were Maman was groaning.

One of the marines cocked his rifle.

Anne covered her mouth and then slapped a hand on Roger's, turning the both of them away from the crack in the tree. She squeezed her eyes shut. Anne flinched when the shot rang frighteningly clear throughout the forest.

She shivered, grabbing onto Roger, who in turn clings unto her, even though she was sure he didn't understand what was going on in the least. Her shallow breath prickled in her chest, and blotted areas of black appear in her vision. Anne wanted to whimper, to cry, to wail, anything but the silence that she had to endure.

Anne doesn't faint, but instead gets to listen to the laughter of those marines.

The sound makes her physically ill, and she literally can feel her whole body convulse in a wrenching motion.

Their laughter grows softer and softer, until it's gone and they are alone. The wind howls over them, the storm obviously taking the liberty to build in its ferocity.

Papa's straw hat still sat there, where it landed, untouched.

Roger doesn't know what's going on, and Anne just wants it all to be over and done with. She rocks him back and forth in her arms, snot dripping down her chin and salty tears running fervently down her cheeks.

The only thing she had in her power at that moment was to crawl out of that tree, with Roger cradled into her chest, and place her too small apron over her Maman's head and chest. Anne doesn't pause to deliver some long winded speech, fueled by grief or rage or whatever emotion was boiling her blood. She just stares, and stares some more, as if willing her grandmother not to be dead. A sob escapes the back of her throat, through the whimpers and the tears, and her scream is drowned out only by the sound of the wind whipping through the trees. She shrieks, cradling her brother, her eyes squeezed shut and her heart breaking in her chest, knowing that her face would be turning a morbid shade of purple in the process. She stops only to breath, and even then, it doesn't quell the emotions swirling within her. Her hysteria is at fever pitch, and not even Roger's inhumanly strong pounding on her shoulders could bring her back to reality.

Her breath hitches, turning fast and shallow, and her fingers trembling something fierce.

For all her talk, for all Anne's intelligence, he strength, she was nothing more than a child in the face of death. Perhaps she didn't fear it, not like most people do, but when she stared at her Maman, there was fear in her veins, coursing through them just as surely as blood did.

If Maman could die this horribly, who was to say that Roger couldn't suffer the same fate? What did innocence or kindness mean in a world where an old woman could be executed mercilessly?

Nothing.

The answer was nothing.

It meant nothing to those marines, who were blindly following orders, and it meant nothing to their superiors.

It takes every once of everything she is to gather the pieces of herself in that moment; to take a deep breath, and to think about how she was going to get Roger and her off that God forsaken island. Anne turns her head away from the very nearly maddening sight of her Maman to focus on the straw hat that she had seen so many days of her life. It was perhaps the only thing she had left. It was proper, she thought, Roger being the only person she had left and her Papa's straw hat being the only thing.

She shuffled over to it, picked it up with a gentle hand, and placed it on Roger's head.

The was only one thing left to do.

Run.

And did she ever.

She ran until there wasn't any island left to run on-until she had reached an old fishermen's wharf, so rickety and dilapidated that it was practically just a collection of wood barely not floating away. She had recalled one of the few fisherman on Juro saying that this dock, while not very pretty looking, was just a few knots from an amazing fishing spot. Nobody ever believed him, and so, he was the only person on the whole island that bothered to use the thing.

The single dingy that bobbed furiously in the tumultuous waves of the storm could attest to that fact. Anne gulped, shivering, and still half in shock as she scrambled over to the small boat, and swiftly untied all the knots keeping the dingy on the bollard. There were oars underneath the floorboards, but there was no chance that Anne was going to be able to row in such fowl conditions. All she could do was let the boat go and hopefully not drown.

There wasn't a choice; there was no ifs or buts about the whole thing.

Either she left and lived or stayed and died. It was as simple as that.

And so Anne chooses the option she will continue to choose for many years to come.

 _She chooses to live._

* * *

 **I feel almost bad for this chapter being such a downer, and to be completely honest, I've never actually written so much angst and it's kinda weird. I'm also not sure if it flows right, but I guess it'll have to do, and it's really up to you guys to say if this chapter sucked or not. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, tragic backstory and all.**

 **Please, if you have any questions or comments, don't hesitate to review or PM me. I'm happy to be of any help. Constructive criticism is also very welcome, if anyone has anything to say.**

 **Over and Out,**

 **L & D**


	5. Double Vision

**I'm so very grateful to those you read, and responded. Thank you for the favs, follows, and the reviews. I hope I can keep your expectations high with this newest chapter. I don't know if I'm completely sold on how it flows, but I think it demonstrates a transition in Anne that I really want to portray.**

 **Hope you enjoy,**

 **L & D**

 **P.S:**

 **There is some language in this chapter, and will most likely be in the chapters to come. Please note that Anne is obviously living in the slums, and niceties are few and far in between. So, she's obviously going to pick up some unsavory words along the way. Roger too, by any logical reasoning. This is just a warning so you don't jump in an get hit with a bunch of fowlness out of the blue.**

 **And also, the title of this chapter is a song title. The credit goes to the band Foreigner. I forgot to mention in the last chapter, but Higher Ground is a song by the Red Hot Chili Peppers, Do again, I'm assigning credit were due.**

 **I'm pretty sure that this is how I'm going to be naming my chapters from now on so maybe it'll be cool or something? I dunno?**

 **Anyway, enjoy.**

* * *

She wakes up with sand in her everywhere.

There's sand in her hair, in her mouth, on her skin, in her eyes, clothes, if it was Anne or on her, there was sand.

She spared a groan, feeling as though there was a heavy weight upon her chest, and with all that had happened the day before, it was appropriate. Anne kept her eyes closed, a splitting headache just behind her temples with nearly vomit inducing phosphenes* swirling behind her eyelids. Tiny hands groped the sand under her back, and then to her weighted chest.

She breathes out a sigh of relief as tuffs of sandy hair meet her touch. Roger moves, and she hears the rustling of straw. She rubs his back, and he grabs her blouse, and they stay there, like that.

Anne doesn't feel anything for the longest time, while they laid on that beach, and she doesn't feel anything when somehow or another, she's walking through a forest with Roger on her back. She had banged up her shoulder real good, and her feet had more blisters and scratches than she could count and her forearms and calves were sand burnt. But she doesn't _feel_ anything. Not anything meaningful anyway.

She walks until they find a village. Granted, it's small, and probably more trouble than it's work to find help, but Anne was so _tired_. She walks up to some fruit stand with an amiable old woman welcoming customers, and Anne stared at her for a good long while before she said anything.

It was probably unnerving, having a child stare at you without a trace of anything in their eyes. Anne could tell. The woman looked back at her, with tenderness at first, but she become increasingly uncomfortable as time wore on.

"Me and my brother got shipwrecked." She says blandly, adjusting Roger on her back. "Are we far from Loguetown?"

The matron smiled, seeming put at easy at conversation, and she nodding. "Yes, yes, you poor dears. It's the next island over, so you shouldn't have any problems with the ferry and whatnot." The woman gave them another once over and shook her head. "Where are your parents then?"

Anne stared at her a second longer, her mouth pinched.

"Dead."

There's a gasp, pitying if Anne had ever here pity before. Anne didn't like charity, but it wasn't as if she had a choice about the matter. If she could get a soft old lady to give them food, a bath and cash, who was she to hang onto her pride?

"Oh, you wretched children, my condolences." The woman looked panicked, wary. Anne could tell she was a good soul, an understanding and empathetic person. It was so easy to get want you wanted from people like these that it was almost laughable. "I'm sorry, but the most I can do is give you some fruit and money for the ferry ride to Loguetown. I truly am so sorryI can't do more for you poor tykes."

Anne gives a wobbly smile, and it wasn't too hard to act like she was trying not to cry.

"Can you point us to the village watering hole? So we can clean up?"

The woman sighed, and merely pointed to the left. "It's that way. When you head back, stop my and I'll give you what you need."

Anne thanks her, and turns on her heels.

There isn't much Anne feels like saying or doing, and she doesn't know if that's from exhaustion or grief or a combination of the two. But mourning idly wouldn't get her or more importantly, Roger, anywhere. She needed to pull herself together, which was hard as she stumbled dazedly down the street, her eyes half closed and her limbs heavy.

Roger kicked her in her side, repeatedly, and that was probably the only reason she stayed awake until they reached the community well. She can't say they weren't a sight, because they were. She looked more sand than person with a hunchback that was Roger, and thus, people cleared out of the way when she approached the well.

There is little else she thinks of while she dumps buckets and buckets of cold water over herself, not caring that her clothes were soak and that she was chilled to the bone. Roger whines at her, but Anne's sure that he knows that she isn't in the best of moods.

"Annie!"

Or not.

"Annie, where're we? Wanna go 'ome."

She stills, letting the cold take over her sense for a moment. Roger shivers in her arms and Anne doesn't know what to do.

"Me too. I wanna go home. But we can't. It's gone."

Roger shares up at her with big, confused eyes and Anne has never felt so low in her entire life. She shakes her head, water flying in the process, with sagging, almost defeated shoulders. "We need to catch that ferry." She says, adjusting Roger on her hip, soggy clothes and all.

She gets what she needs from that old woman and she doesn't look back. Maybe it's rude of her, but manners hardly seemed very important at that point. All Anne is as she walks up the gangplank to the ferry is numbness and grief and overwhelming rage.

She flinches at every crashing wave, at ever splutter the wood of the boat moans out and she despises the people who made her feel this way.

Who made her _fear_.

Piques D. Anne didn't fear anything. Until she did.

The child holds on just a little bit tighter to her brother, the burn of the salty spray promising things she had never really equated with the ocean.

It wasn't adventure, nor was it freedom at that second.

That ferry felt like a prison and the sea like a watery grave.

* * *

The early days were rough.

Anne didn't know what she was doing a good three-quarters of the time and Roger was just a baby, and she felt the constant, crippling weight of responsibility so very keenly on her shoulders. _She_ needed to care of Roger. _She_ needed to make sure they had enough to eat, a place to sleep, and a certain amount of security in their lives. Anne wasn't on her own, per say, not completely with Roger managing to distract her from herself every now and again.

But she felt loneliness, and she wasn't even sure why.

She had had no friends on Juro, and the only people she really loved were her grandparents. Maybe having something cherished ripped so suddenly from someone just cause that kind of reaction.

Loneliness. A debilitating sense of inferiority. Of worthlessness.

Anne couldn't protect anything; she couldn't save anyone. She couldn't salvage one thing from the place she had grown up in. All she had was a straw hat.

And she struggles. She is child, a child who lost everything besides her brother (and thank God for that blessing; that immense blessing), and she is not as strong as she thought she was. Anne isn't perfect, and she can't turn off her feelings, and she can't ignore the pain. It burns and splutters, and just when she thinks she's okay, it returned with a vengeance.

There are long nights, with night terrors of fire and ash and screaming and a storm looming ever-presently on the horizon. There are sudden and extended silences in which Anne does nothing but stare at the ceiling. There are hours of the dark she wakes up sweating and shrieking and Roger crawling onto her stomach and wrapping his arms around her neck and babbling nonsense to the tune of a lullaby Maman used to sing him.

Anne knows she is slightly damaged. She knows Roger is the only person keeping her sane.

She tries to pull herself together. And it works. Most of the time. Anne can keep her cool, and can do things without terrible reminders of that day. She can walk past a marine without spitting in his face. Anne calls it progress. She not entirely sure if it actually is.

Life goes on.

Days turn to months, and months to years.

The passage of time doesn't chip away at Anne's memory. If anything, it becomes more vivid.

There wasn't anything she could do about it though.

All Anne did was live, like she chose to, like she knew she had to.

She didn't know what else she _could_ do besides that.

* * *

"Look, if you wanted to try and rob me blind, actually tryin' to rob me probably would have save you from the headache of havin' ta con me into tradin' this piece of shit sword for my pistol." A flick of the wrist sent ebony curls tumbling over a sturdy shoulder, practically illuminated amber eyes dancing with subtle irritation. "I can smell cheap metal a mile away, and this craftsmanship of piss poor at best. The _kissaki_ and _ha_ both have the sting of a butter knife, the _tsuka-ito_ looks like it was bound by a five year old, and I doubt it would last two seconds in an actual fight. The metal's too brittle; well, more brittle than swords like these already are by forging techniques."

A sheepish laugh escaped from her customers rotting yellow teeth, and she resisted the urge to gag. The young lady squared her broad frame, and put a hand to her hip. It was quite the sight; seeing a rather petite thirteen year old stand across from a stocky, tall man who looked like he was unfamiliar with the concept of washing himself. Anne brushed her hair back, and pushed up the sleeves of her loose fitting grey shirt, eyeing the man in front of her with distaste as he licked his cracked lips at her.

"Looks like ya know what yer talkin' about girlie."

"No shit," The teenager says, barely managing to hold in the edge in her voice as she twirled the sword in her hand experimentally. She gave it a good look, and practically snarls at it before slamming it down on the dealing table her. She wipes her hands on her tight black pants, careful to avoid the bright red fabrics that she wore tied at her hip. "This is scrapemetal, and I wouldn't give you a 100 beri for it, much less my prize pistol, jackass."

His face went red, under all the grime and dirt covering it, raising a threatening hand, "How dare ya talk at me like dat-!" He tensed up, glaring down at her with beady black eyes, as she took a large step forward, right in his face, and close enough to smell his sour breath.

"What are you gonna do?" Anne spat mockingly. "Hit me? _Kill me_? You think you got the balls for that, Ralph?" She placed her index finger on his chest, noting how his eyes flashed with momentary fear. "I think you know my reputation proceeds me, _Ralph_. They ain't just rumors ya know. I've beat people to shit for less than what you just did." He blanches at her touch, and takes a step back.

"Anne, I didn't mean no disrespect-"

She scoffed. "Yeah, 'no disrespect' my ass. You came in here lookin' for a fight. You know that these streets are mine when it comes to selling shit, and you think you can storm in here and try and manhandle me into just givin' you my best gun? I don't think so." She gives him one last once over, and clicks her tongue in rage. "Get outta here. I don't wanna see your face hangin' around for a while or so help me-"

"A'ight! I'm leavin'! Consider me gone!" Ralph yelped as he scurried down the alley, practically crying like a little girl. Anne scowled, her lip drawn up into a sneer as her eyes drifted to the sword he had left. She picked it up, grabbed on either ends and snapped it in two over her knee.

"Do I just have a face that looks like I can be swindled?" She muttered to herself, irritation pinching her eyebrows together and leaving her mouth drawn in a thin, thin line. She kicked an empty whiskey bottle and nod in satisfaction as it slammed against the opposite wall with the force of a train. Anne straightened her shirt out, sighing with a hand over her eyes. "I should call it a day," She says to no one in particular. The group of drunks across the street catcall at her, and she throws up a rather insulting gesture with both her hands. They laugh, and Anne's blood boiled.

"What dicks." She growled, throwing a tarp over her cart, and hauling it off into one of the more heavily trafficked streets. She looks around, making sure that she wasn't catching any attention, and she didn't, judging by the multitude of people ignoring her. She blends in wonderfully with the current of people rushing home from work, with merchants moving their gear to their warehouses, and for Loguetown's horribleness, it was incredibly convenient for her.

She hums, off beat and out of tune, her chin tucked to her chest as a marine strolls on by her. She ignores the coldness of her hands, or how her heart beat just a little faster or even how all the blood in her body seemed to rush right up to her face. She lets her hair cover her face, and she walks right in past that marine. She whistles, turning right into an abandoned alleyway, and carefully tucks her cart into it's proper place, hidden under shadows and a not so uncommon pile of trash. People in this town really didn't care about the poorer part of town, so it only made sense that it was in a constant state of disrepair.

Anne rubs her temples, slouching over herself with pure exhaustion, settling down next to her cart for a moment as she took deep breaths. "Ah," She groaned, putting her hands in her head, "What do I gotta do to not have to deal with asshats everyday?"

"Not live here?" A voice chirps at her, and she knows who it is before she even looks up-

"Roger, you get anything today?" Anne says, letting her hands fall as her elbows rest on her knees.

Her little brother grins at her knowingly, sitting next to her and displaying the plump bag of stolen goods he'd acquired. "Annie, I got _so_ much food."

Her eyebrow twitches, only a little bit. "Roger, that's nice and all, but did you get anything _useful_? Like guns and knives and I keep telllin' you this, yet you keep stealin' food instead of shit I can sell." Anne smacks him upside the head, ignoring his cry of indignation.

"I did get some guns-you didn't have to hit me!"

"Yes, I did, because you're a dumbass and you don't listen to me half the time. You could get yourself arrested for doing this stupid crap."

He looks at her, confusion written all over his face. "But the marines are super shitty here. They can't even tell their elbows from their assholes; how are they gonna arrest me?" Anne bites her lip, resisting the urge to guffaw at the searingly blunt comment, and instead reaches for the burlap sack. She peers inside, picking out firearms from cured meat and bread and cheese. She examines the three pistols with care, pleased to see they were of reputable condition and would fetch a pretty penny with anyone they laid their eyes on them.

"You are forgiven 'cause these aren't half bad." Anne chirped as she snagged a full loaf of bread out of the sack and munched on it. "Where'd you get 'em? Some marine or somethin'? A bounty hunter passim' through?"

Roger crowded up against her shoulder and pulled out a huge hunk of cured sausage and took a bite the size a sea king would in all likelihood. He stared at her thoughtfully as he chewed, and Anne didn't say anything while he did, because if you said something while Roger was thinking, he'd get distracted. Now, if Roger got distracted then he would forget what he was gonna say, and that caused more problems than it was worth seventy-five percent of the time. He swallowed and furrowed his eyebrows. "The black one with the silver engravings' from some drunk that was braggin' 'bout how expensive it was. The white with the black stock* was from a bounty hunter passed out on the side of the road, and I got the last one from a marine who was too busy eating to notice."

She hummed her approval. "So you actually remembered where and how ya got 'em this time. Seems you're not a complete dolt at pickpocketing after all. Good job."

Roger puffed out his chest as he tore into his log of sausage.

"Make sure you eat some bread too please. And cheese. And we should really go steal fruit from time to time..."

Roger scrunched his nose up at her, but said nothing as he continued to devour his meat.

"Roger, manners."

"Annie, bullshit." He says in between a bite, barely pausing as he shoved half a loaf of bread in his mouth.

The ebony haired girl snorted, food spraying about of her mouth and onto the ground in front of her. "You got me there little brother. Good move."

He grins, meat and bread in his teeth, and Anne just laughed. She slaps her knee, doubling over on herself with a faintly amused wheezing noise.

"Annie, you look like an idiot when you laugh."

Immediately, her head snapped up, and she gave her brother a good slap upside the head. "And you look like a brat when you open your mouth! What have I told you about saying crap before thinking about it?"

"Not to do it...?" He said, skeptically rubbing his chin and staring at her as if she had asked, 'What's air made of'.

Anne pinched the bridge of her nose, suffering clear in the way that she scrunched her eyebrows together. "Roger, do you ever listen to me?"

He hummed, sticking a finger up his nose. "Nah."

"Of course not," She bit out rhetorically. "Of course, Anne, he's your brother of course he's not gonna listen to you, he's a little shit."

"Language," Roger chirped out, stuffing his face with, yet again, more meat.

"Why must you be so difficult?"

"I dunno? It's fun?"

Anne whimpered, only a little. She was used to this sort of Roger-esque behavior by now. Which was fairly sad to say, because Roger levels of insanity were no where near a normal human beings. Not even remotely.

"Okay," She grumbled after she had a few moments to compose herself, "Okay, enough with the dicking around, we better be heading back home soon."

Roger yelled, not for any particular purpose, just to yell and be generally irrational, and jumped up to go sprinting down the street. Anne was on his heels as soon as he was on his feet, grabbing the back of his shirt with an inhuman grip.

"You need to stop runnin' off at the drop of a hat. It ain't safe."

He squirmed around in her grasp, and twisted himself around her hand to give her his best puppy dog eyes. To which Anne was immune. He should have known that stopped working when he was five years old.

"Annie, I won't get hurt. Promise."

She frowned at him, lifting him off the ground just a tad. He was a scrawny thing after all, no matter how hard Anne tried to keep him fed as well as she could with them living in a dump and so broke she was lucky to have 1,000 beri on her at a time. "You can't _promise_ that Roger."

She doesn't mean to say it bitterly, or with any sting, but she feels as though that's how it came out. He doesn't cow at her words, only glancing out of the corner of his eye.

"I do know," He said, a matter of factly with more confidence than he usually had, and that was saying something. "The sea told me so."

Anne pulled a face, throwing him a few feet away from her. He landed on his feet, as always. "The sea can't talk, idiot."

"It can!" Roger insisted sternly, as if he was scolding her. "You just can't hear it 'cause you're stupid."

"Why you-!" Anne quickly tried to close the gap between the two of them, but Roger had already taken off like a bullet.

She gave chase, tearing through the streets as if she were a bat outta hell, hollowing for Roger to slow down.

The only way she could actually keep track of him was by following his laughter through the crowds of people.

In the end, she finds him in their little dump of an apartment, curled up in his futon and ready for Anne to tell him a story. She smiles, not thinking about how he was maybe a little too old for stories, because he wasn't. Roger was allowed good dreams-and she wasn't gonna deny him something as simple as that on a whim like age.

Anne settles down in her futon, just beside his, and recounts a tale of giants and beastly sea creatures and travelers.

Roger sleeps soundly that night.

Anne does not.

 _She can still see her old life so clearly, blurring into her new one until she was sure she could see both of them, side by side, there but also not there at all._

* * *

 **So, some of the things in this chapter might need explaining. If this is already common knowledge to you folk then I apologize, but I just wanted to be sure.**

 **1\. Phosphenes are those trippy colors and patterns you see when your eyes are closed; it's a wonderful word, I think, but I'm sure it's fairly uncommon so I decided to put in this author's note.**

 **2\. Kissaki:** **Tip or point area of a Japanese sword that has a ridge line**

 **3\. Ha: The cutting edge of the blade**

 **4\. Tsuka-ito: The wrap of the tsuka (handle** **), traditionally silk, but today is usually cotton or even leather**

 **5\. The stock of a pistol in this case is basically the handle.**

 **That aside, thank you for reading. If you have any suggestion or comments, any at all, I'd be happy to read and consider them.**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **L & D**


	6. Zombie

**It's been a while.**

 **A long, long while.**

 **I do apologize for the exceptionally long absence, but school started back up and I was very preoccupied with it all.**

 **This chapter title is inspired by the song Zombie, by the Cranberries. I do very much find it amusing, since a certain character with a similar condition is highlighted in this chapter.**

 **Let's get to it then,**

 **L & D**

* * *

Anne doesn't understand the hype about pirates. Or, at least her brother's unending fascination with them.

She realizes that it's probably not about being a pirate at all; Roger wasn't the kind of kid that could be swayed with the promises of fame or fortune. (Okay, maybe he was, just a little bit, but that was besides the point.)

Roger and she were a lot more alike than Anne would ever care to admit; after all, what thirteen year old wants to be similar to their six year old brother? None, as far as Anne was concerned. The fact of the matter was that they were, and scarily so most of the time.

They had the same nuances, the same grin, the same facial features and lastly, the same craving for anything they couldn't have. Anne was calm, collected, Roger was spontaneous and wild, but they were both prone to excessive eccentric behavior. Anne was as fickle as the wind and Roger was a capricious as the seas. Similar, but different in profound and distinctive ways.

Roger's love of pirates isn't in piracy itself, but merely the ideal of liberation.

He's only been on one island (that he can remember) his whole life, he's seen the same stores, the same streets, the same people, for years and years. The only real thrill he has is seeing pirate hopefuls roll into the dock, colorful and unkept, with stories of the high seas, and aspirations of sailing the Grandline.

When she tells him that almost all of them are doomed from the start, his admiration only grows. He finds it amazing that people, who know in all practicality they are going to die, still go out and seek the unknown.

Anne thinks her brother is a miracle, sent from the heavens, because nobody she has ever come across has ever said that about pirates. Only town pariahs and drunks and former sailors who are missing a few appendages. The rest of the world view pirates as scum and nuisances, like rats in a cargo ship or a festering wound upon society. Anne isn't an idiot, despite what her brother might say, and she knows that most pirates are scourges that want nothing more than destruction and carnage, but there were always the few. The very, very few.

Anne had heard about those seldom pirates; those who cared for nothing except the wiles of the ocean and the allure of adventure, but had never met a single crew that fit the criteria.

That was until the Rumbar Pirates came to town.

* * *

Slender fingers curl tightly over the cubby, childish hands that writhed in its grasp.

Anne was not amused.

"Roger, would you quit that?" She said while her face resembled someone who had just eaten a sour lemon.

He scrunched his face up at her irritably, "Le'go of my hand, it's uncomfy."

A shake of the head and rolling of eyes clearly indicated that it wasn't happening. "Too bad, so sad."

Roger whined some more, grumbling about unfair sisters and sweaty palms. Anne whistled a jaunty melody that fell up and down and was really quite good for just some whistling. They walked down the streets of Loguetown with unusual reserve, amongst the throngs of people, churning about with purpose and in a set direction-opposite of where the two of them were going. Anne weaved around the crowd, and as did Roger, with practiced ease. Together, they swiped more than a few wallets along the way, but that wasn't the primary purpose of their little outing.

It was, for what it was worth, a trip to satisfy Roger's obsession with the ocean. And Anne was willing to do almost anything to get him to shut up about it.

What she wasn't expecting was to get more trouble than what the excursion was actually worth. This predicament, naturally, took shape in a pirate ship with a figurehead of a bull skull that reflected their Jolly Roger damn near perfect. The ship itself wasn't exactly hard on the eyes, but it wasn't exactly lovely either. It had just enough rough wood and faded paint to make it look truly fantastic, along with that whimsical element that made it a pirate ship. If she were Roger, she too would have screamed, "SO COOL!" at the top of her lungs, but she wasn't. It was merely duly noted, her primary concern being the crew that was disembarking. Who most likely heard Roger's outrageously loud scream.

Wonderful, Anne though with only the slightest hint of sarcasm.

They were interesting characters, if nothing else. One man, blond, tall, laughed, a boisterous and lively, "Na ha ha!" that sent shivers down Anne's spine. He radiated confidence and joy, and he whistled the same tune that Anne had been merely moments earlier. A sword hung at his belt, and he held a flute in his hand. He slapped the back of the tall, thin man beside him, who stumbled forward just a bit, but more than enough to make his Afro shake like nothing Anne had ever seen. He had a guitar on his back, and he grinned, the glare of his sunglasses making him look like the coolest person she had ever seen in her entire life.

"Brook," the blond said, nodding his head towards Roger's awestruck face. "Looks like we have a little fan."

'Brook' laughed, swing his guitar around his shoulder and playing a few chords that sounded achingly familiar, and Roger cheered. The tall man approached them, followed closely by his companion, and strummed a few more chords, getting progressively higher and higher. His hand ghosted over the guitar, bringing the music to an abrupt and screeching halt.

"Yo ho ho!" Bright white teeth stretched over his face, and Anne suddenly felt very vulnerable. She never had responded to kindness very well. "And who might the two of you be?"

She was about to snap at him, with a sharp, 'None of your concern,' but Roger beat her to it.

"My name's Roger! Dat's Annie, she's my sister."

"Yo ho ho!" Came the jovial response. "Well, it's always nice to see people so pleasant with us. Being pirates do tend to have the opposite effect."

"Yeah. Considering what pirates do." Anne sneered, drawing Roger closer in to her. "My brother might be fond o'ya already , but I ain't that easy." She licked her lips, a strap was in her gaze. "I ain't Annie to you two. Only Anne."

The blond and Brooke exchanged glances, quick and expressive, and they both decided upon a grin.

"I'm Yorki, and we're not from around these parts. Could you show us around? For supplies."

She considered them skeptically, looking them up and down. "What do you need."

"Clothes," Yorki replied promptly, "For one. And food, along with some ammunition." He paused, considering something. "And if you could point us to the local music shop, that'd be grand."

Everything they asked for was pretty standard. Minus the directions to the music shop, but if she took the intruments, it made sense. They didn't seem too shady, and like they were trying to rob her. Plus, Roger would be annoying for the rest of the week if he didn't get to spend more time with them. Anne was always one for dealing with the lesser evil: which, ironically, happened to be the company of pirates.

"Follow me." She turns on her heels, grip tightening on Roger as she stomped forward. The pirates chatted lively behind her, laughing and slapping each other on the back and earning more stares than Anne had ever received in her life. She had half a mind to turn around and yell, but the way Roger's eyes sparked stopped her.

She wasn't that heartless.

She stopped by a reasonably priced clothing store; not some fancy boutique or something like that, but a shop for the working man. Comfortable clothes and some flashier items for special occasions. She eyed them, distrustfully.

"This is your stop. Go and get whatever. I'll be out here."

The two men exchanged glances and frowned at each other.

"Anne, it wouldn't be any trouble for you to tag along..." Yorki said hesitantly, still with a small smile on his face.

"Annie, pleaaase?" Roger asked, and by this point, Anne was just tired of all the pathetic mess occurring around her.

She growled ferally, and stomped past the pirates, Roger skipping at her side. "You bastards, you're all shitty. Roger, stop looking at me like that or you're not getting sausage for a week or somethin'." She very well snarled at anyone that looked at her funny while her company looked at various clothing from the 'for sale' rack. She sat on an old box that was just laying around, muttering complaints to herself while she sat Roger on her lap. Her eyes followed the pirates, making sure they didn't slip anything extra in their coats. She might have been a religious pickpocket, but she happened to like the owner very much, and wouldn't tolerate any such thing while she was around. Roger played with her curls, tugging at them gently and watching them bounce up again, and he laughed every time. She mostly ignored him, rubbing circles in the crook of his back in an unconscious gesture of affection. Her gaze never left those sea fairing men.

They bought standard things; loose fitting shirts, comfortable pants and and a few jackets here and there that weren't their size, so she assumed they were for other crew members. They walked back toward her after a hour, four bulging bags in tow. Anne takes one, ignoring their protests, and marches on, across the street to maybe not the not reputable looking music store, but definitely the best by her standards. She swung open the door, practically screeching, "WALTER!"

And there he was, her best customer, flailing awake at the counter, drool flying everywhere.

"Walter," She slapped her hand down on the counter, making the whole store shake. "I need you to assist these gentlemen."

"Wha…?" He blubbered, rubbing at this eye in an attempt to awaken himself. He messed with his shaggy blond hair uselessly, probably trying to make himself look presentable, looking up at his guest with big grey eyes outlined with a faded blue. "Annie?"

"That is my name." She said, hopping up to the counter, lifting Roger up with her. "Now, are you gonna help out some paying customers or what, you fool." She tilted her head to the door, where Brook and Yorki shuffled in, slightly unsure about the manner they entered or presented themselves. Anne was slightly perplexed by the hesitancy, but they were musicians. Maybe music stores were sacred or something, how was she supposed to know?

"Walt!" Roger crowed from Anne's lap, reaching out for him as he passed to talk to the only people in the store that actually wanted to probably pay him.

He waved, not even looking, "Hey Roger, I'll talk to ya in a sec lil' buddy."

Walter and the pirates talked music. Something Anne knew she was horrid at. Walter had tried to teach her to sing once and it was the most frightening occurrence of the century. Cats had wailed and children had screamed and grown men had whimpered for a good two days after her first and last attempt. Then he tried to teach her the violin. An instrument of such delicacy and precision was perhaps the worst choice Walter could have made. Giving her a stick and telling her to beat a building to rhymes would have been a better choice, but who could have guessed that the bow would have snapped in two the second his grasped it? When she tucked it under her chin, the wood splintered. Anne wasn't allowed to touch anything in his store after that, which made her a bit indignant, but she understood Walter's connection with his music thingies.

"I've got some real good strings; top notch if I do say so myself." Walter directed them over to the part of his store that had various wooden instruments hung up on the wall, "I might be a small time dealer, but my pa was a traveling musician. He went all over, and these here are all made out of Adam's Wood. I get a shipment every year or so, and these are hand made by me. Family business, you could say." Walter moved the ladder he kept by the wall, and pulled off the closest one, handing it over to Brook.

The wild haired man received it gently, running his fingers over the grooves with a strange attentiveness. Walter sent to matching bow down, and Brook tucked the chin rest in, holding it firmly is his left hand as he reach for the bow with his right. Brook breathed it deeply, adjusting his fingers, and Yorki folded his arms, looking on with a wrinkled brow.

Music filled the air, and for all Anne's skepticism, she felt herself relax. Roger stopped his struggling, and Anne allowed her arms to loosen around him, both siblings staring in awe. The euphonious melody was sweet to her ears and light on her soul. It wasn't any tune she had ever heard before; slow and measured and beautiful. Not anything like the drunken songs of her youth. Anne had trouble seeing the beauty of the things around her, she knew. She lacked the enthusiasm that Roger had, or the insight of a wise elder, but she knew that the perfect drops sound drizzling into her ears were breathtaking. The whole store quiets. To her, it seems as if the whole world had stilled for that man with the violin.

Then it shatters.

"Nice playing, Brook!" Yorki slaps him on the back, careful and rough at the same time. "You gonna get it?"

He considers it for a moment, weighting it in his hands and stroking its brilliant wood.

"Yes."

* * *

The walk back was entirely less eventful. They asked about her life, and Anne never answered, Roger doing all the talking, even when she told him to shut up. The pirates listened to her brother, and Anne grumbled about it, but said nothing more.

Their laughter was a melody she was unfamiliar with; a tune that her ears didn't really comprehend in any meaningful way. Roger's cackles were what home felt like but the chuckles of the other two framed her brother's with a queer counterpoint. Not unpleasant though. She listened as they talked about everything under the moon; to ships to adventures to whales and more.

Brook cracks horrid jokes and Yorki never fails to laugh. Their dynamic is strange, but the noise was welcome. It kept Anne distracted and that was precisely what she needed.

Their walk comes to an abrupt end when their ship is suddenly before their feet:

The two pirates look at each other.

"Wanna look around?" Yorki says, not really meaning it, but offering anyway.

Anne hesitates. Then surprises herself.

"Yeah." She lifts Roger up with ease, placing him on her shoulders. "Why not."

Brook laughs. "Oh, you're going to love the Ferdinand Jade. She's pretty simple on the outside, but quite cozy inside, I assure you!" He plays a few chords on his new violin, sharp and refreshing on Anne's ears. "Perhaps we can round up the crew to give you a live performance. We do so like an audience."

Anne, for all her boldness just moments before, balks, and as much as she knows it's a horrible decision, she is captured by the music she heard Brook play. It's dangerous. She doesn't know these pirates. They could kill her-kill Roger-and she is willing to take that risk for the sake of heads to ultimately pointless noise. But it wasn't pointless. And she wanted it. Anne was certain she could get Roger out safely.

"Let's go then." Anne mutters, walking up the gangway before either sailor had a chance to reply. Roger crowed, clapping his hands enthusiastically, and drumming on the top of Anne's head. It's a the first real risk Anne's taken since that day, but she feels confidently about her choice.

She couldn't live a tentative and terrified existence. She couldn't let her brother grow up around such a pathetic person.

There was no way she would allow it, or that Roger would tolerate it.

They sit, and the entertainment begins.

Brook and Yorki round up the crew; people who look so out of place together that they were somehow complementary. Anne was impressed, and the show hadn't even started yet.

A big fellow, strapping and hairy, stepped forward with a flute balanced delicately in his hands. A girl-who couldn't have been older than Anne herself-marched up with dulled trumpet. A slender man with unkept hair and dirty clothes hauled his double bass next to the flutist. The flute began with an airy melody, mellow and kind, almost lulling Anne and Roger into a daze before the girl heaved in a breath and blew. The noise was loud, but not unpleasant. It was a slap to the face, and the flute faded, and trumpet filled the air. Anne could hear the bass, and a piano that somehow had made its way on deck, and drums that came out of no where. A violin joined-Brook, no doubt- and the wild shrieking of a guitar added to the choir. The layers of sound struck her. She was mesmerized. And so was Roger.

They stared, in awe, acting like the children they were supposed to be instead of the reality that haunted them. They cheered and sang and danced together. Anne was a child, and Roger was a child, if only for a brief moment in time.

That night is filled with music, and laughter, and Anne doubts that she will ever forget it.

* * *

But all good things, every one, must come to an end.

The Rumbar Pirates had to leave, and Roger and Anne had to let them go.

And so Roger's love of pirates and the sea and freedom only grows. He does too, he grows like a weed, and he doesn't get any easier to manage. Roger becomes a proper boy, then an inkling of a man, and without Anne ever seeing it herself, is a man with slightly childish tendencies, but a man nonetheless.

The Rumbar Pirates disappeared into the horizon, never knowing the legacy they left behind, never knowing that Roger the Rookie and Roger the boy were one and the same. Likewise, some many years later, to Anne's despair, the musicians of the sea of nothing more than a whisper in the wind. They mind have even been a legend; an old tale that woman tell their children as a bedtime story. The recounting of a crew with a dream and colorful souls and sounds that carried their sails into the unknown.

She has long forgotten the names of the other members-those other than Brook and Yorki.

But Anne knows. She knows who they were and what the stood for and how they affected her life-her brother's life-in ways that she could not fathom.

And that will perhaps forever remain her little secret.

* * *

 **I do believe the next chapter may be about more plot forwarding, so I hope you folks will stay around for the ride! Any question are welcomed and I will try to answer them to the best of my ability. If you have comment, or critism for that matter, I would be happy to receive them, granting they be constructive, or helpful in some manner.**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **L & D**


	7. Bullet with Butterfly Wings

**Another chapter coming at you!**

 **I got some very awesome reviews and some favorites as well, and I am very, very motivated.**

 **On a more solemn note, please keep in mind those who have been affected by Hurricane Harvey and Irma (it isn't even finished yet). Some people have lost everything and it is terribly sad, so I just wanted to bring it up as me acknowledging what's going on in the world. Also, 9/11 is tomorrow. It is a very tragic day in U.S history, and I'd like so say that I will personally always remember that day as one of mourning and loss, but also of the great strength of those who persevered.**

 **God Bless, Stay Safe,**

 **L & D**

 **(Chapter title credit to Smashing Pumpkins)**

* * *

Anne counts her cash precisely and with hast. It is a skill she had acquired through years of thievery and entrepreneurship, and every beri counted, always. If that made her greedy, then so be it. Anne didn't mind being greedy if it meant the security of her family. There were a lot of things Anne didn't mind being if it meant her brother was safe.

But she sounded like a broken record. Everything was her brother. Her was her everything. The only thing that brought her genuine joy in the world, which could have been sad, or touching if she put a twist on it, but Anne wasn't one to sugarcoat things. She liked the facts. And the fact was that she had very little and quite a lot to live for at the same moment.

Roger slept soundly whilst splayed on top of her, mouth open drooling over her night clothes, and snoring loud enough to shake the whole room. She swore she could feel the floorboard tremble under her, but Anne saved that particular issue for a later date.

Her eyes wandered over the neatly stacked bills, and her meticulously counted jars of coins, running her fingers through her brother's hair, less for his sake and more for her's. It was comforting, and something she had done since they were just children. Roger would lay on her lap, and she would rub his scalp. Simple, and relaxing for the both of them. Anne didn't even know way she needed to relax, it wasn't as if she had any particular source of stress in her life that she couldn't handle. She was far too used to yelling junkies and alcoholics, conmen with suave smiles, and thieves with sweat on their brow.

It wasn't as if money was tight; it really wasn't, because Anne was the best pickpocket in town and she also ran her very successful, very lucrative weapons pawn shop on all days of the week. Money wasn't an issue. It was what to do with her extra profit-the stuff that didn't go towards rent and food and buying things to keep her business up and running.

Did she save it? Put it in a bank? Keep it under her futon? She didn't know. Desperation is like an old friend at this point, and Anne feels it acutely under her skin. She was so uncertain about everything that it made her nauseous.

If Roger weren't asleep, she would've asked him. He seemed prone to give unexpectedly good advice from time to time, and Anne was sure she really could use some of his magic right about then.

Anne sighed, frustrated and very much on the verge of just giving up completely. She stacked her savings into an old wooden box, and carefully pried up one of the floorboards. She nestled it into the gap, between drywall and cheap tatami mats, and followed up with her jars of coins. The touch of the night air is warm against her flush skin, and Roger is cool under her fingers. She threads her finger through his hair, smiling as he shifted into her touch, babbling nonsense in his sleep. She brushed his hair away from his face, ignoring the mess it was.

"I need to give you a hair cut." She murmured absentmindedly, tracing circles against her brother's chubby cheek. Roger's mouth remained open, drool spilling out, and he kicked her shin. Anne didn't wince. She was too used to events like her brother flailing over her and the waking up with a good collection of bruises for something like that to really hurt.

The mundaneness of late nights and violent siblings was enough to put her mind at ease. There is a silence that overtakes their little apartment, their home, and Anne relishes in it. Her future was foggy, she knew, but her refuge, while maybe not always in that one room flat, was in those silent nights when all she could hear was her brother's breathing and her own thoughts. Her eyes strain in the darkness, but she can make out the pale silver of moon that hung in the sky, visible through the broken, and only, window that the room had.

Anne licked her dry lips, comforted by the stars that flickered overhead.

* * *

Roger laughed in her ear and Anne was awake in approximately two seconds.

Nothing good ever happened when Roger laughed like that.

"I wanna go see Walt!" Roger said, already dressed with mix matching buttons and hazardous thrown on trousers. Anne spared an almost automatic sigh in response to her brother's frivolous request. Walt would want to see them of course, he always did, but Anne wasn't in the mood to deal with Roger and Walt's antics in the same room, at the same time.

She groaned, pulling the futon covers over her head as she continued her very own pity party. Roger yelled, and Anne tensed as her dove into her, basically head butting her back with a monstrous amount of force. A grunt escaped her lips as the two of them went tumbling, tangled up in bedsheets. Giggles filled the room, and all was right with the world.

"Annie, Annie, let's go see Walt! Com'on!"

She had no choice but to fold, obviously.

"Alright. We'll go-" She started, her voice mufflers under Roger's shoulder, "-Fix your buttons and let me get dressed. Then we'll go." A shriek of delight rang through the room, and the weight on her chest lightened considerably.

Anne rolled around a bit, removing herself from her bedding with reluctance as she crawled over to her box of clothes.

She would go with her favorite and cheapest outfit of course; a grey blouse, black pants she had owned for three years, and a red satin dash that she had stolen off a merchant gypsy some years ago. She kissed her fingertips and pressed them into her grandfather's straw hat, safely tucked away in her clothes box.

Black hair was quickly done up into a practical braid, and she rose to her feet with only the slightest of stumbling from tiredness. Anne padded up to her brother, and bent over to help him fix his buttons. He was a dexterous little twerp but he could never seem to handle the concept of getting the right button through the right hole. Roger babbled on about some dream he had had, about Fishmen and mermaids and battle on the high seas.

"You should be a novelist." She remarked offhandedly, playing with a bit of hair that curled up from the top of his head. "You come up with the best stories, Roger."

"It's not a story!" He chirped, and Anne sighed. That was what he always said about those dreams of his. "It's real. That pistol I stole from a drunk yesterday told me, I'm tellin' ya!"

Anne didn't bother to comment, knowing resistance was futile. Roger claimed that everything that couldn't talk could and Anne didn't understand, but then again, she didn't understand a lot of things. Her eyes wander around their spartan home, admiring the moldy ceiling corners and cracked drywall. There is a silence that hangs over her brother and she in that room. It is strangely uncomfortable, like the room is too small and simultaneously too big at the same time, and all Anne is can do is stare at the paradoxical sensation in her bones. She grabs her brother's hand, and opens the door. She forces herself to forget that feeling.

The street is much more Anne's speed; open and familiar, but not too familiar. She saw it everyday, there was always something different about it. Today, a woman was selling pastries in front of her store, another was handing her laundry out to dry, and an old man was selling his newest batch of artisan watches.

They turn into Walter's music shop, where he's sitting on his counter, smoking a cigarette, with a bottle of rum next to him. Anne curled her lip up as the scent of smoke invaded her smell, and her eyes watered. She had always hated that smell. Walter smiled lazily at the two of them, looking much older than his nineteen years. (Anne supposed she looked older than her fourteen, but that was besides the point.)

"Heya Annie."

She lifted Roger up to the counter, placing him on it delicately. "Hello, Walter."

"Hi Walt!" Roger yelled, already off the counter and running around the store.

Her-friend?-smiled sharply as he took another drag before putting it out on the counter top; he knew how much she hated that smell. Instead, he opened his rum and took a swig. Anne crinkled her nose.

"How can you do that? The alcohol's fine, but doing it right after you smoke must leave a nasty taste in your mouth."

"Tastes fine to me." Walter said as he took another, bigger swig. "I don' get how you can't smoke. It's relaxin' ya know."

Anne rolled her eyes. "I tried it, and nearly hacked my lungs out. It don' taste good, it smells like shit, and the smoke makes me sneeze." She tracked a burn mark seared into the wood.

"To each his own I guess." Walter hummed, swirling his liquor around in its bottle.

Anne nodded, her eyes following Roger.

"Annie," The brunette combed his hair out of his face, "When are you gonna leave this godforsaken town?"

The black haired teen started suddenly, jumping up about an inch with surprise.

"What d'ya mean leave? I ain't goin' no where!" Anne snapped, a fire in her eyes. How dare he suggest she was going anywhere? In front of Roger no less. How dare he even speak about her leaving.

He gave her a knowing look. A tired, defeated look. "Anne, this town isn't big enough for you. It isn't big enough for Roger. You two are different." He paused, raking a hand over his face. "You don't like smoking, you don't like being no names, you don't like that you have to be careful. You don't like it here. You hate it." It sounded right. But it didn't. Not really. "Anne, you hate this life, and I don't get it. You got plenty of cash, a house, a business but you're not content, you're not happy."

"Am I supposed to be?" She says before she can stop herself. "Is that what being happy is? Satisfaction? Contentment?" Anne doesn't understand, because the closest she had ever been to happiness was Roger, and that was it. "I can't be happy," She says, fiercely. "I can't. It's impossible. I always want more and more and more and what I have can't satisfy it. Not body deserves to be satisfied. They don't deserve complacency. People deserve more, Walter. I can't understand how you don't want more. I want it. I crave it. Money won't do it. This town won't do it." Anne stops. Roger is staring at a viola on the wall, sitting with his legs crossed and all his focus on the little wooden viola. It seemed blasphemous to say that the town with her brother in it couldn't make her happy. But it wasn't her brother. It was the town, she realized, like a great deluge of cold water rushing over her head. And Walter was right.

They listened to Roger's outlandish stories for the rest of that visit, Anne haunted with the knowledge that she didn't belong and Roger none the wiser.

* * *

"Annie, what happened to the ladybugs?"

Anne hummed, observing the cards in her hand calculatingly. "What ladybugs, Roger? Did you see one the other day?"

"No, the big ones. The _really_ big ones."

Her mouth went dry, but she recovered with ease. "What are you talking about? Is this another one of your stories?" Anne's hand shook, and the cards trembles.

Roger didn't reply, he only stared at her with big eyes and an innocent look. He waited as Anne struggled to keep her composure, which was hard, because Roger, clueless Roger, knew. She didn't know how or when, but he knew. Did he remember? How? He was so young, it should have glazed over his memory, like a long forgotten dream.

The wind rustles the curtains by the window. Roger hummed, eyes still on his sister, waiting for an answer. Anne refused to say anything.

"Annie, what happened to the cabbages?"

"Cabba-" Everything came flooding back to Anne, every moment before the moment. She felt paralyzed. Helpless. "Oh, _Roger_." She abandoned her cards and pressed her palms into her eyes. She kept them there for what seemed like an eternity.

"Annie?"

Her mouth was dry. She needed air. And water. Anything but what was happening to her. "Roger, I can't answer those questions. Not yet. I'm not ready, I-" She swallowed a dry, dry breath of air. "I can't."

"You can." Roger said a matter of factly, "The ladybugs and the cabbages: you remember them, don't you?"

"Of course I do." She whispered quietly. "How do you remember?"

Roger hummed, shrugging. "I dunno." He paused, pondering it. "Can you tell me about them?"

"Maybe later."

"Maybe always means no, though! Com'on Annie!

"They do not." Anne grumbled, gathering up all the cards and putting them back into their box. "And I told you I'm just not up to it, Roger."

"Then can you tell me why you wanna leave the island so bad?"

Anne snapped her head around so fast she was surprised she didn't give herself whiplash.

"Where did you hear that!" She very nearly shouted, it sounding much less like a question than a demand to know."

"You and Walt were takin' about it. I could hear you." Roger fiddled with his cracked teacup, not meeting Anne's eyes. "Was I not supposed to?"

"Oh, no." Anne crawled over to him, rolling him on her lap whilst her legs were crossed. "Roger, I'm not leavin'. I'll never leave you."

To Anne's eternal bafflement, he actually had the gall to look disappointed, of all things.

"Hey, what is it?"

He looked at her, then didn't, eyes fluttering around the room without a particular destination.

"...Don't wanna _stay_."

"You _what_?"

And just like that, Anne's future was in the wind again, a small ship against a hurricane, an unstoppable force of nature.

"Adventure, Annie." Roger's eyes seemed to sparkle in the light pouring through that broken window, wild and frightening if she did say her honest opinion. He looked like a crazed animal, waiting to be let free. " _Adventure_!"

A shiver ran down Anne's spine and it was like that.

She had decided.

She was leaving.

Not now, but someday.

And Roger was too, but not with her. He would have to suffer the boring life for just a few more years or so.

She hoped he wouldn't have problem with it. (Even though Anne really knew that Roger would hate every second of not being on the ocean, but it was something Anne was willing to fight about if push came to shove).

* * *

Anne's sixteenth birthday comes and goes.

Roger is nine years old and a not so holy terror in Loguetown. He made games of pranking marines and stealing from prideful boutique owners.

He was a cute little boy, with a round, somewhat dumb looking face that stretched wide when he smiled. His eyes were grey and fiercer than a Sea King's; he was, needless to say, the talk of all the old gossipy women. Such a boy would turn into a handsome, mischievous man no doubt. They just couldn't wait. Anne would try not to snicker when she walked past them, but it was difficult. Seeing her brother as anything but a pain in her ass was a challenge, and she doubted he would ever be a lady killer in any sense of the word. He was too stupid for anything like that.

The fact remained that the older Roger got, the more and more that he resembled Anne. She was not a fan. They didn't even have the same mother and yet it seemed like they were sporting the same face, only on two completely different bodies. Naturally Anne looked much more feminine, but since Roger was a child, he looked girlish anyways. She hoped that would change as he got older, because Anne couldn't handle the questions she got from visitors asking if she was her brother's mother. She didn't look that old. Mature, maybe, but certainly not like she was in her twenties.

Roger spent more time with Walter than her now a days. Not that Anne minded, because that's exactly what she intended for him to do. She had made it clear when she left that he would be staying with Walter until he was of age to go explore the world. Her brother complained, loudly, but Anne was convincing. She clearly told him that a man of the seas had to be a man before the "of the seas" part. It seemed to click in Roger's head and he quickly stopped complaining.

There was the salty taste of freedom on her lips and nothing was going to stop her. Well, Roger would, until she was eighteen of course, then she was liberated from Loguetown and all its humdrum days and routines.

Until then, Anne had things to do, weapons to sell, money to be made. God knows how much money it would cost to get a good boat, and to have enough left over so that River could by a ship of his own when he set out. She couldn't afford to dawdle or to be frivolous in her spending. Every beri went to her future, with the exception of necessities, and she planed to be prepared.

* * *

 _Anne never realizes that Roger had inadvertently solved her money problems, because he had given her a purpose, like he always had. The two siblings were too dumb to realize that they fed off each other, and that Roger changed the world by telling his sister to go, and Anne changed the world simply by leaving. She had raised the Pirate King. She had been his inspiration. She had fanned the flame of his need for the ocean brine._

 _Needless to say, the world would never be the same._

* * *

 **And so the adventure begins!**

 **The next chapter will most definitely feature Anne setting out to see and the next five to seven chapters will be about her gaining her crew and diving headfirst into their journey! I'm not certain how long I want this fanfic to be, now that I think about it, but I plan to take it slow.**

 **I hope you guys will be with me all the way!**

 **Until Next Time,**

 **L & D**


	8. You Shook Me All Night Long

**So, it appears I have made you guys wait longer than expected.**

 **Please forgive my insolence and let's just get straight to it.**

 **I hope you enjoy,**

 **L & D**

 **(Title credit to AC/DC)**

* * *

Maigo was minding his own business, walking down the street, eating a banana, the usual. His shaggy hair hung in front of his eyes, creating a nice shadow that blocked out the sun and made for a rather dull view of everything, but it was normal, so he carried on as he usually would. He had made it all the way down the the docks, and just as he was about to settle down for a bit of fishing, the most amazing sight he had ever seen had caught his eye.

A woman rigged her ship onto a pier, obviously not caring that her vessel was the size of a small ferry; it was fit to carry about ten men on it, and ten men it would have taken to move it anywhere into place, but there she was, tugging its ropes and tying them up with ease. Her form was difficult to grasp from the distance he was at, but she wasn't tall. She wasn't particularly striking either: black hair, generic clothes, working boots.

He couldn't help but be intrigued. How could such a plain girl display such unusual strength?

The woman felt his eyes. She snapped her head his direction, and Maigo waved, but she just stared, not waving back. She turned on her heels and headed straight into town.

He grinned, almost feeling bad for her. She didn't know what she was getting into, poor thing. Fuukushima had the reputation of being quite the thieving town, full of bandits and con men. Poor girl wouldn't know what hit her. He laughed, baiting his hook with a piece of his banana, and waited.

It had only been ten minutes before the town had literally gone up in flames. Maigo peered over his shoulder, vaguely wondering if he was dreaming. Then, the girl walked out of the flaming wreckage, an oversized sack in her hands and a pleased little grin on her face. Her hair was roughly tied back, bumps and loose strands every which way, and even though her clothes were slightly scorched, her body itself looked untouched. She walked right up to him, set her sack down, and plopped beside him.

"You knew that town was a death trap." There was a beat, and then a tug on his fishing reel.

"I dunno about that," He shrugs, the both of them knowing that Maigo was lying through his teeth. He sharply pulled upwards, grinning at the decent size fish that appeared out of the water. It flopped onto the pier, flailing, and before he could do anything, the woman had a knife through the thing's head.

She stared at it, unimpressed. "I don't like liars. But you don't actually mean ta lie." She pulled the knife up, expertly, and wiped away the blood on her pants. The action was slow, and deliberate. Each side was smeared against her black jean until she was satisfied. "You're just confused. I can tell."

He bristled, only slightly, ignoring the dark stain the blood made. "And who are _you_ to tell me stuff about myself?"

She laugh, and it was a bright, greatly contrasting sound from the scowl that had been on her face seconds ago. "That's the question? My question is how do you not know? I've dealt with my fair share of liars and thieves and psychopaths, but you, you actually looked guilty when you looked at me pullin' up to the pier." Maigo was drawn in to the exotic drawl of her voice. For the most part, she spoke normally, but on certain words her enunciation would draw out a vowel or cut short multiple constants.

"I don't remember looking guilty."

"That isn't the point though, whether you don't remember or you're lying to me, because I saw you." She extended her arms backwards, away from herself, using them to prop her up as she leaned back, her nose to the sky. "I saw you, and you can't take it back."

Maigo's heart races in his chest, and he feels the very sudden need to run. To run and run and then keep running. The dead fish next to him stared at him lifelessly. The girl took a deep breath and smiled.

"Join me." She hums, offhandedly. Her fingernails tap rhythmic beats on the rotting wood of the pier. "I'm going on an adventure, so, join me. I could use some company."

"Okay, look lady-"

"My name isn't 'lady', it's Anne."

He sneered, and waved a hand at her and he stood up. "That's nice and all, but I ain't the adventuring type. I don't even know you. Why the hell would I tag along?"

The girl paused, pondering this for a moment. A moment of hesitation was all he needed to walk past her without an ounce of guilt left. He picked up the fish, and had only took two steps-

"Because you're lost."*

It felt like the wind had gotten knocked out of him, like someone had punched him in the gut.

"What?"

"You're lost," She repeated, a dazed look about her face, "-I think. You can't find anywhere to be happy; you were on this pier because you love the sea, but you're scared of it too. You're lost."

He doesn't say anything. He doesn't want to say anything. The girl got up, threw her large burlap sack over her shoulder, and started walking. He was very tempted to follow her. Extremely tempted. She glanced back, her eyes finding his. "Are you coming along or not, blondie?"

He snarled at that comment. Sure, he was blond, but that didn't mean he wanted to be called blondie. He didn't even know if his sickly yellow hair could even be called a proper blond color. "It isn't blondie, it's Maigo."

The lady-Anne-stopped completely and turned around to look at him incredulously. "You're shittin' me, right? You gotta be. There's no way-"

"I ain't shitting you, okay? That's my name, swear to god."

Anne stood there, stunned, before she let out a sharp, bright laugh. "I didn't know crazy shit like this happened in real life. I thought it only happened in crappy romance novels or whatever." She raised an eyebrow, concern flitting over her features. "...Does this mean we're gonna be a crappy romance novel?"

"God, I hope not." Maigo muttered, looking down at his fish. "I can barely stand you as is, lady."

"Ouch. Rude much?" She laughed, leading the way to her boat.

Maigo knew this was a very bad idea. He didn't know Anne, if Anne was even her real name, and she had that crazed sort of look in her eye that any sane person would further question.

But he didn't care. She could be an ax murder for all he knew, but he didn't care. The horizon was calling his name, and the girl beside him was readily going to lead him into the unknown.

* * *

Anne was a raving lunatic.

Four days with her on the high seas, and Maigo was able to gather that much about the woman. She had laughed unceasingly when they got caught up in a storm, and the waves were twenty meters tall, but she only laughed and laugh, as water spilled onto the deck and as she did jobs that would normally take five or six grown men to do. Maigo was in charge of steering during that time, and her laughter would send chills down his spine. He didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing, but he was pretty certain it wasn't good.

The storm broke, and his captain-he supposed that was what she was-almost looked disappointed. Which furthered his suspicions of her being completely insane.

She unfurled the sails by herself, and Maigo generally felt very useless.

"Oi! Blondie, get over here and weigh the anchor for me, we need to fish."

He grumbled, shuffling over to the anchor, and with a bit of difficulty, got it thrown overboard. It took a moment or two for it to reach a depth that kept the ship stable.

Anne whipped out a fishing pole, and Maigo reached behind him to snag the fishing pole off of his back. The ship had a figurehead of a dragon, and whist they both sat upon it, Anne smiled a smile that reeked of nostalgia.

"You know," she began, "I stole this ship. It was pretty easy, honestly. She had a real stupid name; the _Red Reptile_ or whatever. I obviously had to fix that-" Anne pulls up a fish, sharp and steady, already hacking it's head off as it flopped onto the wood. "I'm thinkin' callin' her the _Vyssiní Zephyr_. Opinions?"

"I've never heard anything like it." He reeled up a small silvery fish that was just big enough to make a decent meal. He hummed, thoughtful. "But I guess that's what you need to go for, now a days. An unforgettable name."

She nodded, excitement washing over her countenance. "Exactly! Ain't no one's heard a name like _Vyssiní Zephyr_ , and our crews gonna be like nothin' you've ever seen, Blondie!"

"My name isn't blondie." Maigo corrected, out of shear principle this time, really very annoyed by how she refused to address him by his given name. He stood up, his fish dangling front his hand as he went off to the kitchen to cut it up and cook it.

He could feel Anne's eyes trailing after him, but she didn't call out to him, nor did she make any loud noises that would send him scurrying back to her. Anne, in a paradoxical sort of way, was touchy and yearned for affection, but also kept her distance, and never got too close. Maigo was confused, to say the least.

He watched her was she sat on the figurehead, her back turned to him. He could tell that she was staring at the deep red reflection that the ship casted upon the ocean, pondering in a way he thought uncharacteristic for the girl he had come to know over their short first week together. He moved across the deck, changing his vantage point, leaning against the wooden railings of the ship comfortably. Anne's lips move, but her words were lost to the wind. She stays there for a few more seconds, her hair billowing in the breeze that had rendered her speechless to Maigo's ears.

She swiftly takes to her feet, jumping down from the red dragon, her boots clacking against the wood of the deck hauntingly. "Blondie," She stops, briefly, right in front of him and lets out a grin that he thought made her look just as insane was she really was, "You ready?"

Maigo starts. His breath catches in his throat uncomfortably. There is something about the sheen in her eyes that is terrifying. "Ready for what?"

The wind howls suddenly and dread plummets into his stomach.

"Why is it so awful? The weather's never this bad!" He shouts over the whistling overhead.

Anne races over to the mast, tying everything down with the amount of care only a decades old sailor would. "We should be grateful!" She screeched, clinging onto the ropes as a particularly foul gust of wind hit her. "The ocean's throwin' a welcoming party! Isn't that sweet of 'er?!"

"Tell her to stop!"

He can hear Anne's laughter over the roar of the sea and feels the urge to strangle her. He gets the notion that it will most likely not be the last time.

"Yahooo!" Anne crows at the top of her lungs as she was literally got swept off of her feet, sent flying off the deck. Maigo was certain that he had a small heart attack as she was sent straight towards the sea, only able to breath again when he saw her flapping in the air whilst holding on to the deck railings. The storm hesitates for a second, just a second, but that's all it took for Anne to be on deck again, rigging the sails.

Everything around him is chaos, but the sureness in his captain's posture is all he needs to keep on going. Her hands are small, but calloused. Her face is pretty, but worn. She looks ten years older than she actually is, and Maigo thinks that if anyone needed protecting, it would be Anne. He can't justify that with logic, but it just made sense to him. He couldn't let her protect him all the time. He had to return the favor.

"Captain!" He screamed over all the noise. "Captain!"

Anne snaps her head in his direction, her face all smiles, and Maigo feels like he has done a very good thing.

"Maigo!"

* * *

Hari was a small, small island in the North Blue, governed by pirates and so unnoticed by the World Government that it was barely a dot on the maps. This was the place their battered ship washed ashore on. Anne was stitching up torn sails, and patching up broken floorboards as Maigo navigated and kept the ship as far away from ominous clouds as possible.

As soon as they were close enough to the dock, Anne was pulling it up to the pier with inhumanly ease, tying the ship up with a few knots to keep it from wandering off. A fellow with yellow teeth and tattoos across his face sneered at him from a worn down dingy. Maigo was just a bit intimidated.

He could see Anne staring down the sailor with her sharp eyes, and the man held her gaze. There was an unspoken battle raging between the two of them, one of wills, Maigo thought, and neither looked like they were giving up their ground anytime soon...Until Anne took a step forward and the man stumbled in the dingy, landing on his butt. From where he was standing, Maigo could see the fire in his captain's gaze. It was terrifying; her eyes narrowed, forehead creased, lips drawn so thin they might as well been a person flitting back and forth from life and death.

"Come on, Blondie." She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, turning on her heels. "We ain't got time for a man who cain't even stand up straight in 'is own boat."

The boy lingered uneasily at the edge of the boat, peering down at the person that glared at Anne like he was planning murder. He jumped over the railing, hesitant, crying out when his feet hit the deck with an undesired amount of force.

The two passed the man in the dingy, his beastly eyes trailing them. Anne paid him no mind, while Maigo squinted at him for a good five seconds. He was an ugly man; rough and worn by the elements.

He quickly dismisses the sailor in favor of running after Anne.

His captain's back is straight and strong, and he gets slightly lost in the way her shoulders jutted out broadly and the sudden realization that her baggy blouse and ill fitting jeans were meant to cover up her athletic build. She peers over her shoulder, giving him a look, and stopped. He followed suit, halting just a few meters behind her.

"Uh," She licked her cracked lips, scratching the side of her face with an air of awkwardness about her. "Are you gonna walk next to me or just stay there...? Um, ah, not that I particularly mind or anythin', but it makes me jumpy when you just..." She hesitated, fiddling with a baby hair curled over her forehead. "...do that." Anne flaps a hand at him and he assumes she means to gesture him to come closer.

Maigo's face morphs into slight disbelief. "You're totally okay with being thrown around in a storm like a rag doll, but not with me walking behind you?"

"Yah." She affirmed, bringing a hand to her head and feeling a handful of her curls. She cringed, and momentarily ignored Maigo to dig into her pockets. She pulled out a ribbon and quickly did her hair up into a rather atrociously looking ponytail, and then focused herself back on Maigo. "So, are you gonna come up here...?"

The blond sighed a very deep sigh and jogged up to her side, wrinkling his nose at her poor updo. "Okay, I gotta ask why your hair looks like it's inhabited by rats."

Anne glared at him, hand flying up to the crown of her head. "All that salt water whirlin' around from the storm made it all crunchy. It's disgustin' but there's nothin' I can do about it."

"You could cut your hair."

"But I like it like this." She groaned, burying her face in her hands for a second before she pulled herself together and started walking again. "It ain't very practical n' all but it ain't like it's to my waist or nothin'. It's only a lil' more than shoulder length."

"If there's nothing you can do, stop complaining." Maigo kicked up a loose stone, sending it up the path a few meters.

Anne sighed loudly, "But yer the one that asked!"

"I didn't need your life's story, honestly."

"How mean."

"Oh, my apologies, are we sailors or are we civilized folk? Am I supposed to act like a gentleman?"

Anne blew a raspberry at him, her eyebrows scrunching together, and her nose wrinkled to the point that her eyes were slits. "Don't mean ya gotta act like a dick."

Maigo spluttered, tripping over his own foot and jostling forward before he regained his bearings. "Oi! What's with the language?!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, am I supposed to act like a lady?" The retort was sharp, mocking, and Maigo felt a bit of himself die on the inside. He opened his mouth to snap back something witty at her, but a hiss of pain left his lips rather than anything sarcastic.

The sensation of hitting the ground rippled through his left side. He was too dazed to even think of being irritated that Anne was on top on him, pressing the side of his head, and consequently his cheek into the ground. He felt her hand pressed against his side firmly, and he reached under his belly with his right hand to grope around and get her off.

"Maigo, hey, stop squirmin', I'm tryin' at stop the bleedin'."

"Bleeding?" He said weakly, a chill spreading throughout his side.

"Um." Anne hummed at him in affirmation. He heard ripping and then pain shot up to his armpit. He cried out, attempting to roll on his back, but Anne was firm. "Don't move 'round too much. I'll take care of the jackass who grazed ya. "

"I'll give that dipshit a piece a my mind..." He heard her mutter, and Maigo was moved with pity for the poor bastard who was about to get a beat down.

He turned on his side, blinking hard at the tilted view of his captain and a small man with a tricorn hat and a red coat.

"Ah, 'n who're ya, pretty lady?" The man grinned, streaking his ginger beard, full of untamed curls and braids. "What's a woman like yerself doin' in such a place, hm?"

"O', I dunno," Anne batted her eyelashes. "I was jus' 'ere to fetch some supplies."

"Maybe I cou'd point ya in the right direction." He put a hand on her shoulder. "This place ain't known for being too safe ya know."

Anne smiled, putting her hand over his, and abruptly tossed him over her as a child would a rag doll.

"Yer bein' awful chummy with me considerin' what ya just did."

Maigo couldn't see the man any longer, as Anne's back was blocking the few, but he heard whimpers and muffled words.

"'Cuse ya, sir, I think I would know the face of the man who threw a knife at m'first mate. Don't give me none a that 'it wasn't me' bullshit I saw ya do it."

No one spoke. All Maigo could hear was the sound of his breath, and how his lungs creaked every time he heaved in more air.

"Get outta here." Anne's voice was soft, but the message was clear.

He had never seen a man limp away so quickly in his entire life.

Anne shuffled back over to him, crouching beside his face curiously.

"You doin' a'ight?"

"As good as a pincushion can get I guess." Maigo muttered bitterly.

"Don't be such a baby-" Anne worked her left arm underneath his knees and he right under his back and lifted him up like he was a child.

"Oi!"

"What?"

"Do you have to carry me like this?"

Anne blinked at him owlishly. "Uh, how else am I supposed to do it? This is how people carry other people?"

"I'm not a damsel in distress! Carry me on your back or something!"

"It's too late for that!" Anne hissed furiously. The entrance to the town was fast approaching, along with the increasing number of seedy looking people.

"Anne!"

"Maigo, shut up!" His captain picked up her pace to a jog, weaving around people with ease. They approached a run down bed and breakfast, and Anne kicked open the door with her foot roughly, running right up to the counter. Eyes of all the occupants of the room focused in on the two of them.

"What can a do ya for?" Said the roundish woman who stood behind the counter, blowing a long drag of smoke in their faces.

"One room, two nights."

"You got cash?"

Anne slammed a few beri notes on the table.

"Room 3, up the stair, to the left."

There were no pleasantries exchanged, and Maigo gasped slightly as he was jostled up the stairs. "Careful!"

"Shush you, we're almost there!"

The door slammed behind her, the lock clicked, and Maigo was thrown on top of the bed. Anne was all hands after that.

She had stripped him down to his boxers, and started ripping up the already torn hem of her blouse roughly, assessing his wound with careful eyes. "Man, he stuck ya good." She unbuttoned her pants, and pulled up a small canteen from the curve of her hip.

"Grit yer teeth." The cap was unscrewed with haste, and whatever was inside of it _burned_. Maigo cried out in pain, but Anne didn't seem to care in the least. "Oh, suck it up, it's just a little whiskey. Better than an infection."

"I-I didn't know you kept a flask-" He pushed his hair back from where it was stuck to his forehead, cringing at the sweat the glazed over his hand. "Didn't think you drank."

"I don't. Alcohol's nasty, but I gotta keep it on me. Good disinfectant, ya know?" The torn portion of her blouse was wrapped around Maigo's wound tenderly, and with a steady hand that knew full well how to insure a bandage was just snug enough.

"Anne, why are we here?"

His captain gave him a startling grin, all her little teeth showing in eerie unison.

"Maigo, I hear that there's a man here who can read the stars." Her eyes practically sparkled and she went on, "Ain't that somethin'? Readin' the stars, ya know? I also heard he's the best navigator in all the Four Blues-sounds interestin' don't it?"

"I got stabbed so you could meet some wack star-gazing fool? You've got to be kidding me. Please tell me you're joking."

"Weren't ya listenin'? Best navigator in all Four Blues!"

"And where did you hear that bullshit information?!" Maigo shrieked exasperatedly. "Tell me it was from a credible source or something! You didn't just hear it in a bar, did you?!"

Anne went silent.

"Anne!"

"Where else am I supposed to get information?! A library?! I barely know how to read!"

"You think I know how to read either?!"

"Then would you kindly get off my ass!"

"No, I got stabbed because you didn't think this through!"

"Stop bitching at me! I know, alright! God, Maigo, you got on my ship and didn't think it was gonna be dangerous? Newsflash, it's the ocean, of course it's dangerous!" Anne stomped her foot on the ground, her brown eyes practically burning holes into him.

"You could have been more careful!" He snarled.

"I'm done bein' careful! I've been careful forever and a half, and I'm sick of it! What's the point of this if it ain't dangerous, if yer not gotta die at any minute? I wanna live. I don't wanna be _careful_."

 _"That's fine!" Maigo retorted, "Throw your life away, I don't care, but leave mine alone!"_

Anne froze, her eyes wide as saucers as Maigo pressed at his aching side gingerly.

"I'm goin' to clear my head." She muttered softly, turning around and closing the door behind her with a soft click.

Anne didn't return until the next morning.

* * *

 **Oh, it seems like I added drama. Whoops. Any who, if you're wondering about the whole "lost" thing, well here it is:**

 **So "maigo" can mean lost in Japanese, generally a lost child, but also anyone or thing that is disoriented: so children, adults, dogs, etcetera. What I was going for here is that if you think of this dialogue going on in Japanese, Anne would have said:**

 **"あなたは迷子になりました。"**

 **-Anata wa maigo ni narimashita.-**

 **"You are lost."**

 **You can see why this startled Maigo, 'cause she said his name without knowing his name. I dunno I guess I thought I was being clever but whatever I guess.**

 **Also, Vyssiní Zephyr. Basically, it's Greek. Vyssiní means Crimison and Zephyr is the Greek god of the West Wind. Basically, this was the nice wind god, because his breezes were gentle and stuffy so yeah.**

 **I hope you review and stick around for another chapter!**

 **Sincerely,**

 **L & D**


	9. Big Empty

**_I'm back!_**

 ** _Yes, indeed, I am not dead friends. I'm sorry to say that the reason of my absence is because of an injury I sustained and consequently sucked all the life out of me. I'm doing much better though, and I'm back and ready to go!_**

 ** _Hope you enjoy the chapter,_**

 ** _L & D_**

 ** _Disclaimer: Chapter Title inspired by STP and One Piece is most certainly not mine._**

* * *

She was a complete, utter idiot.

Anne bolted down unfamiliar and unpaved roads, her breath caught in her throat and a scream crawling its way into her windpipe. She tripped over an untied shoelace, her whole body crumbling on top of itself. Her mouth took in a good chunk of dirt, and her eyes were completely caked. It took a few second to spit out all the grains, and to wipe at her watering eyes, but Anne managed to orient herself, sitting in the middle of the road, completely filthy and lost looking.

A whimper left her mouth, and a shudder ran up her spine as she stumbled to her feet, trudging over to a nearby building that she could sit down and lean against. Her chest was heaving, up and down, up and down, and the very acute sense of distress washed over her.

"Damn it," she said, drawing her knees up to her face, "Ah, I screwed up. I really screwed up." She wrapped her arms around her legs, pulling them in ever closer to her torso. "What kind of selfish asshole am I? Oh, that's right, Piques Anne, I almost forgot, winner of crazy bitch of the year award." She sighed, shaking her head.

She looked up, hazy clouds obscuring the starlight, and furthering Anne's bad mood.

"Well, shit. I come here looking for a star reader and there ain't any stars. What a joke."

It was strange to see a town so utterly empty. Anne had lived in a particularly slum-ish part of Loguetown; that said, everything was much more _vibrant_ when it was after daylight hours there. It's almost comforting how dilapidated the building are, with the crumbling sheet rock and roofs in various states of disrepair. Her eyes wander, and a young woman with striking strawberry blonde hair stares back at her through a dimly lit window. The girl's angular face and high cheek bones contrast under the candle she holds in her hand; Anne is certain that the girl is a specter. The woman turns her head, gesturing to someone out of view.

Anne does not expect the beast of a man that appears behind the glass, nor the how the two are rather domestic in how he puts a hand on her shoulder. It was intriguing. The woman waves a hand at her, the man looks, but he rolls his eyes dismissively. The girl doesn't look especially convinced, but she blows out the candle, and everything is marginally darker.

Feeling slightly lonesome, Anne rolled onto her back, splayed out on the ground rather inelegantly.

She closes her eyes, fully intending to fall asleep then and there.

"I'm sorry miss, but it's dangerous to be out here at this hour; the bars are about to close and all the old sailors will have no where to cause trouble but the streets."

The black haired woman cracks one eye open, the sight of a tall, skinny girl greeted her. The girl's wide green eyes assessed an carefully, ruby red lips set in a stern frown, making her feel slightly intimidated. The girl was a rail, so thin that she could have disappeared if she were turned to show her profile; Anne was so unused to such a meager figure that she nearly asked the lass of she had been eating enough.

"Really? That why it's so empty?"

"Yes." The brunette smoothed out her dress-a very sensible blue dress-and nodded her head forward, and gestured to the building Anne was leaning on. "My brother and I run a pub together, and this is it. I know it doesn't look like much, but we have some fairly civil patrons. Could I interest you in a drink in exchange for you not loitering around my business? It tends to scare off the normal people."

Anne laughed, leaning herself towards her knees and promptly sprung up to her feet. Now that she was standing, the height of the other woman struck her like a blow to the face. The girl was nearly a full neck and head taller than her. "Didn't know this town had normal people. Heard it's full'a retired pirates, mystics, and worn down marines."

"That's true for the most part." The girl scratched the side of her jaw while an amused expression quirked her lips, "I'm Poppy, by the way." She extended her hand, and Anne was glad to shake it.

"Anne. It's a pleasure."

She stared up at the dimly candlelit sign that hung in front of the entrance, admiring the absurd name of The Orange Shanty. Anne was always so partial to ridiculous thing that should couldn't help but be fond of the softly peeling orange paint of the swinging doors. The two women make their way up the stairs and Poppy swings open the door to her establishment with ease. "Hey Cotton! I gotta customer for ya!"

"It better not be that woman from the market, or I'll kill you! Stop trying to marry me off!" A loud, but relatively sane sounding tenor voice echoed in the pub. Anne put her hand over her mouth to muffle a laugh, and Poppy snickered.

"Nah, I didn't bring Michele. I could still get you her address though, since you were thinking about her."

"Poppy!"

Poppy laughed outright this time and put a hand on Anne's back as she guided her to the bar. A head full of white hair stuck up from behind the counter, the face of a scowling man front and center. The man (who had been crouching or something like that, Anne assumed) rose to his full height. Which was tall. He was taller than Poppy by a good fifteen centimeters, and Anne wanted to know what these people ate for breakfast.

"Cotton, this is Anne. Anne, Cotton." Poppy hummed, sliding onto a stool, and Anne did the same.

"Nice to meet ya." The man grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "Sorry about the shouting."

"You call that shoutin'? That's whisperin' where I'm from."

"Cotton's just being polite. Too polite if ya ask me." Poppy paused, nodding her head as if she were trying to decide if she was going to continue or not. "Well, he's also my brother's so there's that. Maybe he feels like he needs to make up for my rudeness?"

"Yes, that's it," Cotton says automatically, wiping his hands down on his apron. "Anyway, Anne, pick your poison; you came in here for a drink, right?"

She laughed. "I dunno if I'd call it poison, but if you got grape juice on you, pour me a glass."

His eyes went real wide, and Poppy almost cried she was cackling so hard. "G-grape juice? What the hell? Do you not drink or something? Is some religious thing? You look like you drink a bottle of vodka for your goddamn breakfast!"

"Oh my God, I can't breathe!" Poppy screeched as she grasped at her stomach.

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?!" Anne replied indignantly, her face immediately set into a scowl, "I ain't no drunk!"

"Wait, what? That isn't what I meant!" Cotton looked frantic as he turned to his sister. "Stop laughing!"

"Holy shit, no!" Poppy fell off her chair.

"What did you mean then?" Anne crossed her arms, growing very annoyed by the situation.

"I-I just meant that you're, uh, tough looking, I g-guess-" His voice raised into a squeak as Anne narrowed her eyes at him. "Like you grew up with whiskey instead of milk-!"

"I don't like alcohol, jackass." The black haired woman sighed, rubbing her forehead tersely. "But if it honestly bothers you that much, splash some rum in it for all I care. That's the only liquor that don't make me as sick as a dog."

"Yes ma'am!" Cotton turned his back on her, his hands fumbling to get her what she asked for.

"Ah, you're funnier than you look, Miss Anne."

"I do try Poppy, but I don't play about my dislike of alcohol." The woman narrowed her eyes at Cotton one last time, for good measure, and nearly laughed when his whole body flinched, and his spilled juice onto the counter. "You're a klutz, aren't you?"

"Only when there are terrifying women sitting at my bar." The white haired man muttered setting her drink in front of her.

"I'm a fuckin' angel." Anne declares loudly, downing her grape juice and rum in one go: "I was raised by farmers'n shit, courteous by nature and whatnot. I ain't a savage."

"Never said you were; I said you were terrifying."

"Same difference."

"Okay, what the hell does that even mean? It can't be the same and different and the same time, it's impossible."

"You're impossible." Anne retorted petulantly, sticking her tongue out at the bartender. "Look, you messed up pouring some juice, don't argue with me mister."

Poppy shook her head, grinning, and stood up. She gently hook elbows with Anne, and lightly guided her away from the bar top, away from a scowling bartender. The back room was quiet, and also a mess, but it wasn't Anne's place to say. She merely waited patiently for her host to inform her was what it was that needed to be addressed. The girl with the ruby red lips hummed at her, smiling in a gentle, but somewhat astute way.

"Sorry," She pulled out a cartons of cigarettes from her pockets and a matchbox. It took less that a few seconds for Poppy to have a lit cig dangling from her lips, the tall woman smiling all the while. "Needed a smoke."

Anne nods, putting a hand up in refusal when Poppy offered her one. "Don't like cigarettes."

"Woman, do you have any vices? Com'on? If not booze, smokes, then what is it? Lust? Power? Glory? There's gotta be something."

"Why are you so interested?" Anne leans against a tankard of beer, her eyes roaming around the area until they settle on the ceiling. "So what if I don't like shitty stuff. I don't need any of it to live. All I need is food and drink in my belly, clothes on by back, and adventure in my future."

"Adrenaline junkie?" The green eyed woman inquires as she settles herself on a barrel of sake.

"I suppose," Anne says in responses after mulling it over for a few seconds. The two women stand there, in silence, looking at each other and the haze of smoke that began to fill the room. Anne did not cough, or splutter at the smell or taste, because she had been around it enough for breathing it to be like second nature.

Poppy looks at her real hard, before nodding absently. "So why are you here exactly?"

"Looking for a star reader." Anne holds a hand up before Poppy could get a word in, "I know, dumb idea. Shoulda just stayed the hell away, but I couldn't help myself."

"A star reader, huh. Nobody's looked come here looking for one in ages." The way that the brunette speaks hold a twinge of nostalgia.

"So there aren't any?" Anne laughed bitterly, looking up to the ceiling in frustration. "Knowing my luck, I guess that's how it would be."

"Never said that." Poppy nudged her over slightly to the lone window in the storage room. "A bunch of people here can read the stars, but it's not very useful. Works well enough in the Blues, but it's a wreck in the Grandline. It ain't anything special."

"That so?" Anne leaned forward, propping herself up against the windowsill. "Still seems pretty cool to me."

All the other woman did was laugh, shaking her head. "It really isn't. Anyone can do it." Poppy smiled, walking over to join Anne by the strange mix of sunlight and moonbeams.

"Maybe, maybe not."

Poppy gives her a sideways glance, and hums. "Pirate?"

"Yeah."

"Thought so. You're too loose to be a marine, and don't stink enough to be a bounty hunter."

"I take that as a compliment."

"You should."

Anne paused and ran a hand through her hair. "I really need to be getting back..." Anne says offhandedly. She furrows her eyebrows.

"So soon?"

"It's not like I wanna leave or anything, I just have business to take care of." The ebony haired woman frowns, crossing her arms over her chest. A yawn stretches her jaw open wide, and it cracks loudly. Anne groaned, bringing her fingers to her chin and slowly pulls them back to massage the dip where her ear met her neck.

"Can I expect you to visit again?"

Anne looks out the window at the stars that were starting to fade into the twilight sky, and smiles wearily.

"I don't know."

* * *

She knew she had to go back and face Maigo properly. That doesn't mean that she wanted to.

All she can think about is how selfish she had been going into everything; she had only been focusing on the journey, the danger, and not on how she was the captain. She was responsible for Maigo. She had convinced him to board her little red ship, and he followed her. She had to keep him safe.

Anne realized that her responsibilities never ceased, only shifted.

First Roger, then Maigo.

It was foolish of her to think that sailing meant absolute freedom. She still had duties, and there were still rules to follow, flexible as they may be.

She spent her time until full sunrise walking around the painfully small town, admiring the slow progression of dawn into day. Anne found herself in front of the very inn she had fled from merely hours before. She stared at it and really took in how intimidating that dilapidated hostel was to her in that moment. Every shadow was darker, every angle accentuated, and the rotting wood even more menacing. It seemed to her that there was a miasma hanging over the building, weighing it down with darkness and melancholy.

Or maybe she was just being dramatic.

The dark haired woman trudged up the stairs, opened the door, and gave a small bow towards the broad working the front desk. Then came ascending those wretched stairs. One, two, three, four... there were fifteen steps and she was at the door of the room she had left Maigo in far too soon.

She didn't bother knocking. Anne opened the door and peaked her head in reluctantly.

Maigo slept soundly on the raggedy bed in the right hand corner of the room. She let out a breath and slowly tip toed her way past the threshold and closed the door behind her. Her first mate made a grumbling noise and Anne knew she was finished.

"Holy-"

Anne jumped, and Maigo flinched, and they stared at each other for a few seconds. Her first mate looked a bit offended in a very general way, his lip twisting into a sneer and his eyes narrowing into slits. Anne was certain he was plotting her murder.

"What are you doing?"

"Mm." Anne brushed her hair back, not being able to bear looking him in the eye. "Tryin' to think of a way to beg for your forgiveness."

"You're not doing a very good job so far." He noted sharply, Anne clinching as if she had been given a physical blow.

She sighed shakily, and clasped her hands together. "Maigo, I'm tryin' here, I really am. I'm sorry that I acted like a complete ass, and I don't want you to leave, and I don't wanna put ya in danger anymore."

He assessed her with skeptical eyes. "I dunno."

"Please?" Anne was contemplating getting on her knees. "I'm so, so, so sorry that I didn't think'a your safety. I'm the captain, it's m'responsiblity, it's on me alright?"

"Look, I get you're sorry, I do." He shifted, rolling off the bed to plank his feet on the floor. Maigo grimaced, sharply inhaling in a way that made Anne's heart ache. "But can you promise to not do fucked up shit. like this again? At least talk to me first? Then we can see if your fucked up shit has any value."

Anne nearly cried.

"Maigo, I love you and you're beautiful and the best first mate thanks so much-!" She clamored over to him, breathing unnaturally hard and wrapped him in a hug. He squirmed and Anne clutched on tighter. "Maigoooo-"

"Get off of me!"

* * *

They go into town to get supplies the next day. It should have been fairly straight forward: food, water, booze, in that order.

Except nothing could ever be that simple with Piques D. Anne.

She walked down the street, arm and arm with Maigo, talking his ear off. Many stopped and stared at the two, but she merely assumed that it was because of them not being locals. That was until she reached The Orange Shanty.

It looked so very different in the daylight. More decrepit, less magical, and a lot more orange for that matter. It was a startling shade, with a strikingly black roof to oppose the outside; it was ugly, if she was being honest.

"Hey Maigo, you want stop for a drink?" She jostled the two of them to a halt, and pointed at the garish bar. "I was hanging around her last night, and the grape juice is fantastic."

"Why the hell would you go into a bar for grape juice? Get some good stuff, you idiot." Maigo sighed heavily and allowed himself to be pulled towards the establishment by the brutish woman. "Did you try the beer? I do enjoy a cool beer on a hot day..."

"Get beer then. Goodness." Anne swings the doors open and marches in with Maigo trailing after her. "Hello? Poppy? Cotton?"

"Yes?"

"Yeah?"

Two head popped up from behind the bar counter at the same time.

"Oh, it's Anne! Hiya Anne! Cotton's still irritated with you!" Poppy waved with a cocktail mixer in her hand.

The white-haired man gasped and shook his sister roughly, "Don't tell the She-devil that!"

Anne raised an eyebrow as Maigo finally took a step that had him standing at her side, "I really don't understand what I did to make him dislike me, Maigo."

"Well, first off, if you were being yourself when you two met, that's probably it."

"Um, rude."

"Not being rude, just right." He said haughtily, grinning at his captain. She sighed very loudly and stumbled over to Poppy.

"Poppy! My first mate is an absolute dick!"

"Language!" Cotton shrieked loudly from behind the bar, flapping his hands wildly. "A lady mustn't use that kind of language!"

"Yeah, what a dick, Anne." Poppy replied suavely, chuckling as her brother foamed at the mouth and passed out. "Now that he's out of the way-" The ruby lipped girl smiled sharply, "Let's get down to business, shall we?"

"What?" Anne blurted out nervously, peering over the bar to look at the man knocked on conscious on the other side.

Poppy leaned back on one of the barstools and grinned, showing all of her white, almost threatening, teeth. "Well, Anne, that 'star reader' you were looking for is me. Except I'm not a star reading, mind you. I'm a proper navigator. I've sailed all across the Four Blues, and ventured into the Grandline once or twice. Take me with you."

"Uh?"

"Take me with you."

Anne jerked her head backwards and scrunched up her face into a decidedly unattractive countenance of skepticism. "Why the hell would wanna come? You could die, you know. Only crazy people do that."

"Good thing I'm fuckin' insane." Poppy flipped both of her twin braids over her shoulders. "When do we leave?"

"Uh, Maigo-?" Anne glanced over her shoulder and saw her first mate nearly weeping.

"Finally, someone who won't get us killed in a storm," He held his hand out, "Welcome aboard, let's get out of this shit island."

"Maigo, we still need food-"

"We can get it later."

"Maigo, where are you going? Why are you dragging Poppy along with you? Hey! Don't leave me behind! I'M THE CAPTAIN DAMNIT!"

* * *

 ** _In which Anne didn't think alcohol was that bad when she was younger and steadily grew to dislike it because everyone says it's an acquired tasted._**

 ** _Anywho, look, an actual finished chapter._**

 ** _sincerely,_**

 ** _L & D_**


	10. Starrider

**_In which I got the flu and had nothing to do for four days straight. I hope you guys enjoy, because I'm pretty sure this fic can now be classified as a slow burn, oh well._**

 ** _Sincerely,_**

 ** _L & D_**

 ** _(Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece (obviously) or the title Starrider, credit to Foreigner)_**

 ** _oh and language please note that sailors have foul mouths, yes?_**

* * *

" _Day 27,_

 _We are running out of food, Maigo drank all the booze, Poppy smokes so much that she might as well be a fire, and I am certain we are on the brink of starvation-_ " Maigo read out loud, only pausing long enough for Anne to realize what was going on and laugh at her when she shrieked. "- _I am tormented by the thought of no food. Poppy locked up the pantry so I can't eat anymore and I think that Maigo and her want me to starve so that if worse comes to worse they can eat me. Which is pretty counterproductive because then I'd be skin and bones and that wouldn't be very tasty-"_

"Maigo, stop it, I literally wrote that at four in the morning and was basically high on caffeine!" Anne pawed at him as he lifted her journal into the air, just out of her reach and cleared his throat.

" _O! Woe is me! I have been forsaken by the food gods! God of meat, I ask of thee that thou unlock the pantry so I might snack of all the beef jerky and leave none for my traitorous right hand and soothsayer."_

Anne's face turned a brilliant shade of purple as she stomped on his foot, "MAIGO STOP BEING A DICK."

He yelped, and dropped the journal. Anne picked it up and slapped him upside the head with it.

"Smartass first mate..." She muttered before sulking away, leaving Maigo withering on the deck in pain. Poppy laughed from the crow's nest.

"You are one sorry son of a bitch, yellow squash head!" She cackled all from the way up there, and yet he could still hear her with perfect clarity.

"At least I'm not a fucking bean sprout, you scrawny broad!"

"You say that like it's a bad thing, but I assure you that my ass makes up for what I lack in the tit department." She called out, laughing even harder as his face lit up red. "Go fish or do whatever you do, Squash-kun, I'm busy here."

Maigo made a face at her and shuffled off towards the railing and pulled his fishing lure out.

It was a beautiful day; there wasn't a cloud in the sky and the crew was making decent progress around the Blues, however slow going it was for other crew members. They still needed a proper cook, because Poppy was shit at cooking meals for sailors and Anne ate all the food before she could even set it on the table. He really did hate the selection of Lima beans and cabbage that was slowly rotting in the back corner of the cooler.

All things considered, it could of been worse.

Maigo casted his reel and settled in for a few hours of fishing and whatnot. The ocean was a picturesque blue and the sky was just a shade lighter. He heard the sound of waves crashing against the hull and each other, and for a moment there was peace.

"MARINES PORTSIDE HORIZON-" Poppy shrieked.

There went Maigo's peaceful fishing time.

The door to the interior rooms of the Vyssini Zephyr slammed open, his captain standing with every inch of her not so very tall height, her chin high and shoulders broad. Her feet barely made a sound as she swiftly walked her way to the port deck railing, gazing out onto the horizon with narrowed eyes. Maigo jogged over by her side, Poppy yelling out a vague description from the crow's nest.

Anne was silent, her eyes straining, before she leaned over the wooden rails. "That's a commandeered Marine vessel. It ain't no real Marines, that flag belongs to the Westphil Pirates. Supposedly they're the strongest crew in the West Blue, but considering it's the West Blue, I don't think it's much to brag about." She rubs her chin thoughtfully, tilting her head "Maigo, how far away to you think they are?"

He frowned, shuffling closer to the edge of the boat, "I dunno. A league maybe? Far distance I'd say, we can barely see 'em."

"Right." She nodded. "Well, can you make us go in their direction? They've probably got some good stuff on that ship they stole. I could sell that shit on the cheap and make a fortune..." Anne's eyes glinted dangerously, and a grin stretched out over her face. "Yeah, yeah that sounds good...tell Poppy we're gonna be doing some fightin' today."

"Tell her yourself."

She looked like she was about to say something smart-ass back, but smirked instead, "Looks like neither of us will have to be yellin'. Here she comes."

Poppy was scrambling down the mast as fast as she could, a manic grin of her face as she lifted her skirt up all the way. Her white bloomers were cotton, reasonable looking, but what really put Maigo on edge was when she pulled out a pair of brass knuckles from the side of her mid-calf boots. The look in her eye was almost feral.

"I don't understand how you two monsters only need your fists to fight." He said as the spec on the horizon looked every closer.

"Look here, first mate," His captain said, unbuttoning her shirt, "I don't only need my fists gotta knife right here, see?" She modestly had an undershirt on, with a sheath that hugged the curve of her waist. "But this puppy's only for the big guys. I'm plenty strong to knock someone's head off. Also got cute little daggers in the back of my boots. Handy."

"You saying you don't like the crunch of someone's nose under your knuckles?" Poppy questioned absentmindedly. "What exactly do you fight with then, know-it-all?"

Maigo puffed his chest out and tilting his chin up defiantly. "I, unlike you lunatics, fight with a fishing pole, like any normal person."

Anne and Poppy glanced at each other.

"What the hell-"

"-kinda normal person-"

"-fights with a-"

"-fishing pole!" The two women shrieked as Maigo practically deflated in front of them.

"..."

"What was that?" Anne sniffed, wrinkling her nose and cupping her ear with her hand. "I couldn't hear you."

"I was raise on Ryoujima alright! Are you happy?"

"Wait..." Anne murmured, "That sounds familiar..."

"Oh my god-" Poppy said just below an utterance of breath, "I thought that Ryoujima was a fake place-I thought Ryoujima was just stories from sailors drinking too much tequila-oh my god, are you telling me the stories about seven feet tall men flinging each other around on fishing lures is real?"

"Yes." Maigo said shortly, his ears and cheeks aflame. "Now leave it alone."

"Oh no, no sir, I've heard too many tales about this." Poppy scuttled towards him closely their noses almost touching, "So are the _all_ stories true? You gotta tell me."

He spluttered and opened his mouth-

"Would you two stop flirting, there is a huge fucking Marine Merchant ship coming this way."

"We were not-!"

"Anne, if I was flirting, I assure you that everyone from here to the Red Line would be able to tell, alright?

All their captain did was squint at them suspiciously. 'Not convinced' was written all over her face as she nodded flippantly. "Whatever you say."

"You're a dick, Anne." Maigo growled.

"I believe it's pronounced ' _sexy as hell_ ' but that works too." She retorted mockingly.

The three crew mates stared at the ship that was slowly inching it's way towards them.

"Anyone down for lunch?" Poppy chirped, "It's gonna take them at least two hours to get here. There's no wind, and I'm almost positive they're rowing."

"Are you kidding me? I was so ready to beat some ass." The captain muttered, tugging at her hair frustratedly. "But food is also food, a decent second option, hmmm."

"I say food." Maigo stated absently.

Anne nodded strongly, as if convincing herself if something, "Food it is then!"

* * *

"SURRENDER PEACEFULLY AND NO ONE WILL HAVE TO DIE!"

"Oh shit-!" Anne gagged on a chicken leg that slid halfway down her throat, "I forgot about them!"

"We know." Maigo said dryly, entering through the kitchen door with a knife at his throat. Poppy was closely behind, in a similar situation but with a gun nestled on her temple.

"Weren't you two going to check?"

"Captain, they've been on board twenty minutes looking for you."

She looked from her peas to her spoon. "I kept droping it, so maybe I was on the floor."

"You asshats, give us everythin' ya got." One of them men snarled, baring his teeth at her. Anne tilted her head at him, and started unbuttoning her shirt. Naturally the men balked, just long enough for Anne to have her knife in the gun guy's foot. While knife guy was gaping at his friend she flung a dagger into his thigh. She watched nonchalantly as he crumbled to the ground next to his pal.

Anne glided over to the writhing men and smiled at them, pulling out a dagger from the back of her other shoe. "Now boys, I'd like you to tell me how many crew members you have, who your captain is, and how much stuff you've got on that Merchant Vessel."

Maigo and Poppy looked at her as if she had grown a leg out of her ear, but she didn't care. She was fairly used to the shady business of thievery, and this was no different. "What? Cat got your tongue? Boys, I can promise you that cat wouldn't be nothin' compared to me havin' your tongue." She brushed her weapon against her fingertips gently, drawing blood. "These here blades are quite sharp, you know."

That made them ever so squeamish.

"We ain't telling you nothin'." The fatter of the two said.

"I ain't lookin' to hurt nobody." Anne sighs, shaking her head. "But you held a knife and a gun to my crew. Just tell me what I want to know and I'll be on my way."

"No." The thin one said resolutely

"Fine." Anne grabbed them both by the back of their collars and lifted them up like it was child's play. "You two will be goin' on your way then." She trudged out of the kitchen, and onto the deck with Poppy and Maigo trailing after her. She threw both of the men non-ceremoniously onto the floor, glaring up at the merchant ship that was much larger than the Vessyni Zephyr. Anne picked up the fat man and practically launched him back onto his own ship, the thin man going next, the both of them screaming all the while.

"TELL YOUR CAPTAIN TO STAY OFF MY BOAT AND LEAVE MY CREW BE!" She bellowed, relishing the look of absolute terror on the scattered crew members's of the Westphil Pirates faces.

"Um, Anne-" Poppy said, just above a whisper.

"What."

She pointed hastily to the figurehead of the ship, which bore upon it a woman of a rounded physique, and of startlingly blonde hair. The woman said nothing, merely pointing her finger in Anne's direction. The howling of the wind drowned out her voice, but from the distance, Anne could make out two words: "Bombs away."

A feeling of dread settled in Anne's stomach, and she quickly sprinted to the left, dragging Maigo and Poppy behind her. Just was just fast enough to avoid the fireball that had magically erupted from the woman's finger.

"How fun." Anne muttered, rolling up her sleeves, staring at her scorched deck for a moment before a red hot anger built up in her chest. "MY SHIP-!" She wiped her bloody dagger clean and grasped it by the smooth blade. Anne didn't waste any time flinging it directly at the woman's chest, nor did she hesitate to shriek in frustration as it sailed harmlessly through her rib cage.

"Damnit-!"

"Captain, calm down, please, we can't fight them-!"

"The hell we can't! Look what they did to the Zephyr!" The ebony haired woman growled from the very back of her throat, almost hissing in her acrimony.

Poppy cracked her knuckles. "I'm with Anne. Those bastards made a fool outta me."

"Am I the only sane one here? Can someone please just answer me that?"

"Yes." The two women answered in unison, brandishing their weapons and fists.

Maigo sighed deeply, his hands shaking, jittery, his breath trembling. "I hate you both."

Poppy's eyes turned feral, "Forget that, we have company."

There was a shrill cry of war, and the sound of dozens of feet trampling on wood. Men boarded the Zephyr, expecting for it to be an easy steal.

What they didn't count on was Anne, with all her inhuman strength, Poppy, with her brass knuckles and positively dirty attacks, or Maigo, with a fishing reel made out of Adam's wood and tempered steel. Anne wasn't one for pulling her punches, but she was also never in the business of killing; one strike was enough to break several bones, and enough to incapacitate even the strongest or normal men. For all her strength, she still ended up drawing a blade because of the sheer number of men. Of course she couldn't handle five people coming at her at once. She was just one woman after all.

Poppy bloodied pirates left and right, striking first with a quick blow to the nose, then finishing it with an uppercut to the chin. She weaved in and out of reckless slashes of broadswords, and parried wayward gunfire with the grace of a dancer.

It was hard to imagine to Anne that Maigo had been the man who had been shot (even if it had technically been her fault) as all it took was a flick of the wrist and tremendous whip to bring skulls smashing into the deck. It was very elegant to watch, the reel flying and twisting and snapping into action mid-air, catching on the backs of shirt and bringing upon the wearer timely unconsciousness.

It took a good forty-five minutes for approximately fifty out-cold men to be sprawled out on Anne's deck. She was less than pleased.

"COME OUT YOU COWARD OF A CAPTAIN!"

Maigo and Poppy nodded beside her, covered in blood splatter. She opened her mouth once more, prepared to be even louder, when she blinked. It took only a second, an instant, and the men, the deck, the Marine Merchant ship, all of it, simply vanished before her very eyes

"I must say, you folks aren't half bad."

All three of them whipped around, eyes focusing in on the source of a honeyed alto voice that was so pleasant to the ears. There, on Anne's railing, was the same blonde woman who had set fire to her boat. Her muddled eyes were strange; a disturbing ring of blue centered around her pupil, and the rest being a grey so stormy that it could have been called black.

She unnerved Anne, and that simply wouldn't do. "Who are you? Where the hell did your men go? Where the hell did your ship go? What fu-"

The blonde tutted at her, waggling her index finger. "Now, now, now. Don't be so profane. It was just a little magic, no need to get so riled up."

"Magic?" Poppy said under her breath, "Are you kIDDING ME-?!"

Anne charged forward, ready to sucker-punch the inconsiderate broad in the nose, only to almost go flying over the rails. "The hell-?"

"Haven't you figured it out yet?" A sweet voice called out, disembodied and entirely entirely creepy at the point, "For such strong people you sure aren't the sharpest nails in the shed are you?"

"Why are you insulting my intelligence? I'll have you know I am an incredibly schooled person." Maigo rebutted.

Anne growled, prowling around with the same manner of a bloodhound after a fox. "Come and face me like a man!"

"But I'm a woman," the voice purred prettily.

"You know what I mean, you devil!"

"I'm afraid not..."

"UGH!"

Again, Anne only had to blink, and the woman was right in front of her, nose to nose, a sly, sly smile gracing her lips. "You see, Miss, I'm somewhat of a castaway; I've been looking for a crew for some time now, and you seem interesting." Her figure shimmered, and then she vanished. "So tell me, what are a hastily put together bunch like you doing out here? Infamy? Money? Glory?"

"The hell we would answer a question like that, much less let you join!" Anne snarled, officially incredibly disturbed by the situation her crew and she had found themselves in.

"Oh my, no need to be so hostile. I mean no harm, honestly."

"No harm-!" Maigo actually had to leap forward to stop Anne from taking a swing at the mast (which they needed, obviously).

"You need to cool your head." He said frankly, hooking his elbows under her armpits. He picked her up with surprising ease, for a man of such gangly proportions, and he walked her over to the rail, and threw her over board. Poppy stared at Maigo, her eyes glassed over, brass knuckles spotless.

"Oh, thank goodness, some reasonable people at last." The blonde woman shimmered back into view, glancing over the rails to look at Anne, who was shrieking above the tumultuous ocean roar. "Are you not going to throw her a life-preserve?"

"Maybe later," Maigo mentioned offhandedly, "it's fine, she's a decent swimmer; at least, she won't drown before she kills us.

"Comforting." The mystery dame noted blandly. Her eyes lingering on Anne for just a moment more before clapping her hands together jubilantly. "Now! Down to business! My name is Jeanne, it's lovely to meet you two. I feel that I could bring a valuable aspect to this ship, namely my Devil Fruit ability."

Poppy was suddenly next to Maigo, shoulder to shoulder, nodding enthusiastically. "Yes, yes, do tell."

"I have the Meimou Meimou no Mi, very useful thing as I demonstrated to you. It has to ability to create visual, auditory, and basically any sense hallucination that I chose. Those pirates you battled were of my own making."

Maigo sighed. "That sound great, but what aren't you telling us? How could this blow up in our faces?"

"Well," Jeanne chuckled, "If you know it's a hallucination, then it won't work at all. And, if there's any real danger, say, if I had tried to actually kill you all during all of that, cut you or stab you with a knife for example, the pain sensors would immediately snap your brain out of the hallucination. So far those are the only things that I can imagine would be a problem."

"Thrilling." He muttered, folding his arms over his chest. "Anything else you can do?"

Jeanne tapped her chin for a moment, then tilted her head. "Well, I can cook, but I hardly think-"

"You're hired." Maigo and Poppy said in unison, with a faint echo of Anne's voice from the ocean saying the same thing.

"Welcome aboard." Maigo offered his right hand, which Jeanne accepted firmly, with a charming little grin.

"So..."

Maigo froze.

"Anything you have to say to me, Maigo, Poppy? Maybe an apology?"

Poppy laughed nervously, turning around ever so slowly to look at her captain, who had scaled the side of the ship with two throwing knives. Anne smiled, sopping wet, and a glint in her eye that just screamed murder.

"Yeah, um, about that, sorry...?"

"Yeah, um, how about getting latrine duty for two weeks? How does that sound? At least she can cook to atone for her sins, but you two can't do a damn thing!" Said duo shrunk under the scolding of their captain, and sulked off after she had finished, red faced and still terrible angry. "As for you," she started, turning to Jeanne, "I expect dinner to be damn delicious, you hear me?"

"Of course, _captain_ ," The blonde hummed, "I wouldn't think of doing anything less."

* * *

 ** _Okay so now we have a cook, who is actually kind of a little shit but hey, what are ya gonna do? Captain's Gotta Eat._**

 ** _Also, the Meimou Meimou no Mi is basically translated to Mirage Mirage Fruit at least, that's what I'm going with._**

 ** _If you guys have any questions or comments, drop in a review, because those make me happy :)_**

 ** _Thanks for Reading,_**

 ** _L & D_**


	11. Days of the Week

**_Hey guys, it's been a while.  
_**

 ** _Again, another chapter giving some insight into the characters (and I think that sometimes this just drags out and it's boring? Idk? Anyway, tell me about that so I know what's up because I obviously want you guys to like it.)_**

 ** _Sorry for the wait!_**

 ** _L & D_**

 ** _(Title credit to Stone Temple Pilots)_**

* * *

It's not that Jeanne didn't like her life on the _Vyssini Zephyr,_ it was just that the crew was basically insane and probably should have been in a mental hospital, and not sailing the ocean in any capacity at all. She would say the she regretted forcing herself upon the crew, but Jeanne herself was actually not the most stable human being on the planet, and thus she found herself surprisingly at home on the small red ship. Her captain was eccentric and erratic in everything that she did, often hogging food and hiding clothes in strange places for reasons Jeanne couldn't fathom. The navigator was a tall woman, always on her toes, and looked like a vampire when she got out of bed in A morning. Jeanne attributed that particular phenomenon to her frighteningly blood red lips. The first mate was the only relatively normal one. Jeanne said "relatively" very lightly because he was just as crazy the rest of them.

Granted, granted, Jeanne wasn't exactly standard herself, so it was rather contrary to be judging her new crew mates. She laughed airily as Maigo frustratedly threw a punch at Anne, who took it square on the jaw, unfazed. Anne gave him a look, the look, and Jeanne laughed again from her perch.

"If you're gonna punch me make it worth my time."

"I'm trying." Maigo plopped down on the deck. "Do we really have to go to this Germa Kingdom place, I mean, Anne, let's be sensible about this. The Vinsmokes ain't exactly nice people."

"Who the hell cares about the Vinsmokes? Who even are they? I wanna see the medicine man that lives there. I hear he's the best—"

"You mean Mori-san?" Jeanne interjected

with a smile, her lips twitching fondly. The two turned their heads to look at her. Having their attention, she said, "Well, I've been to the Germa Kingdom, and the only man that has such a name there is Mori-san. He really is such a nice person, a darling really."

"See?" Anne huffed, spreading her arms out widely, and in a great flourishing of motion, she turned on her heels, facing towards the afternoon sun. "The medicine man is real, and we need a doctor. So, let's go."

Maigo groaned pitifully, "But, Anne, it's almost impossible to get into the Germa Kingdom without legalities; you know, papers and stuff. They'll shoot us down before we get anywhere near the dock with the eyesore ship we have."

"Vinsmoke Marshall is a hard man, I'll admit, but you forget that I can alter perception." Jeanne smiled wickedly, walking lightly towards them, conjuring up the faint image of the island the Germa Kingdom ruled. "We can do anything we like in the Germa Kingdom. They aren't all too concerned with a few foreigners out to get medical assistance." She paused, scratching her chin. The island mirage vanished in the glimmering of sunlight. "If I remember correctly, Marshall was always spewing nonsense about making the Germa Empire whole again, that there would be no one in the North Blue not under his reign. I don't think we have to worry about that though."

"And why the hell not? He sounds insane!" Maigo flapped his arms frantically, screwing up his face to convey his dismay.

"Because he doesn't have any resources, and he's barely clinging onto the Germa Kingdom. That man can't possibly build an empire. He's far too neurotic for that." Jeanne dismissed the idea flippantly, brushing her blond hair over her shoulder. "Anyways. Has our course been set for Germa?"

"It has." A voice chimed in, walking down the stairs that led to the ship's wheel. The sole helmsman swayed jauntily down to the main deck, grinning. "I'm rather excited. A barmaid only sees so much in her career."

Maigo turned his body from the ground to give her a skeptical glance, "I'm still not convinced you've only been a barmaid—you know how this thing works far too well."

"Yeah, yeah." Poppy rolled her eyes sarcastically, shaking her head. "Just shut up and listen to what I have to say." The tall woman walked up to Anne holding a bound map tucked under her arm. "Cap, we've set course to Germa, and it should be a fairly smooth ride there. The North Blue isn't terribly horrible to sail on, but the only hiccup maybe a storm or two. And—" She unfurled the map, and pointed to an island noted as Swallow Island. "We must stop and see this island. Apparently it's literally shaped like a swallow. How freaking cool is that?"

Anne's eyes sparkled. The two women whispered over the parchment frantically, occasionally squealing loudly and shrilly at that. Maigo visibly deflated and smacked his forehead with him palm. "We are never going to get to the Grandline, that's it. We're just gonna get lost in the North Blue and never get found, because half this crew are idiots."

"Maigo, shut up and look at this island—" Anne pointed at the map, slapping it for emphasis, and he rolled his eyes, not impressed. There was a moment of hesitant, where Maigo seemed like he almost wanted to argue, because he was the sensible one out of the three. Jeanne, however, knew with her limited week experience on the Vyssini Zephyr that he was bound to cave to the Captain's will.

"Oh what the hell. Not like I have a choice." Maigo rubbed his temples, sighed raggedly, and scrambled to his feet. "I'm taking a nap. You guys are too much to deal with today."

"Have a nice nap!" Jeanne called out pleasantly as he slammed the door leading to the ship's interior. "Well. That was eventful, wasn't it, Captain?"

Anne tilted her head confusedly and raised an eyebrow. "Jeanne, this is an average Tuesday."

* * *

The sky was a muted grey, and there was nothing fantastic or magical about it; it was not a crisp blue, nor did it have spell binding pearl wisps of clouds streaking across the sky. It was not roused into a fury; there was no dark, ominous black doom hanging overhead, nor threatening claps of thunder or breathtaking crackles of lightning. There was nothing consequential about the sky, about the calm sea, or anything really. It was a perfectly dull day, and one Jeanne could have been content with if it hadn't been interrupted to rudely by a filthy rabble of pirates.

She had obviously been on watch by herself. Anne was seeing to her captainly duties (whatever those were), Maigo was taking his nap, and Poppy was doing navigation calculations, or something along those lines. The point being that Jeanne, for all her wit and cunning, was not particularly strong in terms of brute force. They were at least half a league away. Which meant she didn't have to use force; a simple application of her Devil Fruit would suffice. She trotted up to the railing and her eyes flashed a hot, burning red before they returned to normal. Faint shouting bubbles across the distance between the two ships, and there was the vague sound of pandemonium. Jeanne settled herself against the crow's nest, tilting her head with a slight grin as the ship made a sudden twist, the rudder groaning so loudly that she could hear it perfectly. Screaming ensued.

She knew exactly what was going on. The captain of the ship was being fetched, yelled at, the navigator too naturally, and all the men would debate what just happened before reaching the conclusion that the sun had hit the water just right. The ship they had seen in the distances would just be a mirage.

The woman gazed upon her handiwork with satisfaction, laughing as the vessel sailed off into the distance.

"Oh dear, oh dear," she breathed in between fits of jovial noise, "the only thing that is funnier than that is ruffling people's feathers." Jeanne tapped the wood beneath her hands, humming to herself as the source of her amusement blurred into the waves.

The blonde stilled amongst the drone of the ocean, and her thoughts strayed.

The first notion to linger about was that of the medicine man.

Tasukeji Morinobu was a quiet soul, always had his head bowed, always flickering his eyes away from confrontation. Jeanne had grown up with Tasukeji, and it never failed to baffle her as to way he chose Germa as the place he wanted to settle down in. He was so terribly timid and Germa was so horribly unruly that Jeanne found herself questioning if he had been force to move more often than not. Memories of endless field of poppies and smiling yellow daffodils filled her mind, and Jeanne allowed herself to be swept away to a time and place much different than her reality.

There were quaint cottages and great, somnolent windmills, and meadows blessed with miles and miles of bright colors. Jeanne can distinctly remember fluttering curtains and woolen blankets and long nights filled only with the scent and sight of burning, fragrant cedar wood. Jeanne's mother had been the village healer, and she can recall standing on her tip-toes, craning her neck to steal on desperate look at the mortar and pestle and her mother frequently use. The specter of drying herbs perpetually cling to the fabric of her mother's dresses, and that was what Jeanne associated her mother with, always: drying herbs and freshly plucked flowers. There is always the memory of Morinobu in their drying room, standing closet to Jeanne and watching her mother work meticulously. The apothecary would slow her actions, and allow the children to watch. Jeanne supposed that was why Mori had wanted to become a doctor.

She wistfully sighed, gazing into the distance of the salty ocean brine, wind flowing through her hair. There was a serenity about the crow's nest that was separate from the rest of the ship. It was quiet, untouched, unheard from the rest of the sturdy wooden home she had laid claim to as her own. Jeanne took a deep breath, appreciating the moment-

"Um, if you need to go to the bathroom, you really don't have to stand watch, I mean, you could have just called me?"

The blonde whipped around, her face beat red and slightly mortified.

Jeanne took back everything she said. She regretted joining the crew. She wasn't to leave.

Her captain stood there, an eyebrow raised and poised for judgement, and in a whisper that was perhaps as loud as an elephant sprinting across a vast savannah, "You looked kinda constipated? Wait..." Anne snapped her fingers and thumped a fist into the palm of her hand. "I know people who make that face when they think too hard! (Or at all really). That must be it! Sorry, I'm just totally not used to people using their brains on this boat."

Jeanne wanted to leave immediately. If she didn't die of embarrassment first.

"Captain, can you not be more..." The blonde woman cringed as Anne absentmindedly fluffed her hair and multiple large breadcrumbs fell out of it, "...never mind."

"Wait, no. Not be more what?" Anne adjusted the huge shirt she had on at the moment (it was covered with food stains really) and all in all, she frankly looked like a savage girl who had never taken a bath in her life.

Which was strange, because the captain had been perfectly presentable just two hours before.

"What the hell happened to you? Captain, you're filthy." Jeanne deadpanned, giving up on any discussion about Anne's lack of social decorum.

"I thought you would never ask!" Anne chirped, clapping her hands together. The petite woman grabbed Jeanne by the hand and dragged her into the bowels of the ship. Jeanne didn't know exactly which room they were in, but it was clear to her that it was supposed to be something akin to a storage room. Except it was covered with paint.

Her captain puffed out her chest proudly as she stomped over to the sopping mess that was a singular piece of fabric pulled out to dry. "What do you think? It's our flag."

Jeanne tilted her head at the wild mess of color and licked her lips, "I think..." The woman hesitated, a grimace twisting her face heavily, "I think this looks like a two year old drew it. No offensive."

Anne froze, her smile falling away into the most devastated look Jeanne had ever seen grace human features. The captain blinked, her blanch face greatly contrasting to her dark hair, and her lips quivered into trembling, pained grin. "Oh dear. Not again. I've made a terrible mistake." Anne threw the back of her hand onto her forehead dramatically, reaching towards the sky with the other; "Oh, woe is my artistic talent!"

"Definitely." Jeanne noted affirmatively while Anne sighed.

"This was so much work. I'm so disappointed. I thought it looked like trash, but I wanted to be optimistic."

"Optimistic trash..." Jeanne muttered under her breath, "I think that summarizes this crew pretty well."

"Jeanne, if you hate us, why are you even here." Anne deadpanned listlessly, not a trace of emotion on her face. "You don't have to call us trash. We already know we're trash."

"Calm down, it was a joke."

"Ha ha." Anne said dully, with the eyes of a dead fish. "Ha ha. So funny."

"No need to be sarcastic."

"No need to crush all my hopes and dreams."

"I am seriously concerned for you if this flag encompassed all your hopes and dreams." Jeanne stole a glance at the frankly horrid flag once again. "It is honestly so bad."

"You can't even pretend to be nice?"

"No. It's horrid."

Anne sighed. "I'm going to take a nap and mourn over all that energy I just wasted."

"You go do that." Jeanne replied as she stepped over a puddle of red paint. "Captain, half of the colors on the floor aren't even on the flag."

"Jeanne, nobody needs your Debbie Downer attitude okay? Just leave me be so I can take my nap!"

"Anne? Anne? You can't just-don't faLL ASLEEP IN A PUDDLE OF PAINT THAT IS SO STUPID! GO TAKE A SHOWER."

Jeanne was really starting to regret her decision to join this crew.

* * *

After she had managed to get her captain to take a shower, Jeanne retreated to the solace of the women's barracks. She liked to think she had a fairly thick skin, but being along with Anne, without Maigo as a buffer, as simply fair too strenuous a task for her to handle. The blonde woman groaned loudly as it dawned upon her that she would have to make lunch soon.

"What do they even like to eat? I made roast beef and rice yesterday and they claimed it was the food of the gods. Roast beef and rice. It's that normal?" She paused, rolling over on her unsurprisingly uncomfortable top-bunk. "Maybe I should make mashed potatoes and baked chicken. Mmmm that sounds good, yes, yes, I have decided that shall be for lunch."

Jeanne motioned to get up, but the action fell short.

"Do I really want to get up and make lunch?" She asked herself profoundly. "There are so many better things to do than make lunch. Like never come out of here again. That sounds excellent. Speaking of, I thought captain said she was going to take a nap? Where is she? What the actual hell?"

She was suddenly struck with the terrifying realization that this was possibly going to be the full range of her life. Cooking for a black hole and constantly trying to escape her own leader's insanity. That did not sound fun to her. That actually sounds depressingly stressful.

"Jeanne? Are you alive?"

The blonde groaned as Poppy trotted into the room. The tall woman plopped herself down on Jeanne's bed, patting her head. "Don't worry. I was just like this when I first came aboard. The dynamic is hard to get used to (well just the Captain really) but other than that it's fine."

"I thought I knew what I was getting myself into," The blue eyed woman lamented, hugging her pillow to her chest.

Poppy snorted. "Oh honey, don't we all." The red lipped former barmaid stood, brushing off her dress. Poppy eyed the neophyte, as if considering, weighing her options. After a lengthy pause, she said, "You do realize she's being difficult on purpose, don't you?"

Jeanne snapped to attention, her mouth open, gawking without restraint.

"No."

"Yes."

"W-W-" Jeanne swallowed hard, "Why would she do that?"

"Well, to put it nicely, she want's to know you can deal with rough situations. To put it not so nicely, she wanted to make sure you're not a pussy who'll run away at the first sign of trouble."

"O...Kay?" She didn't get it. Maybe if she played along it would all go away. Jeanne really, really should have left the red ship alone. Honestly.

"She did it with me too. I think. At least that's what I think this is. I'm really hoping because sometimes it's too much."

"Isn't this considered hazing?" The blonde asked dazedly.

"Maybe." Poppy replied. "Not really sure yet. Maybe it's how she shows affection?"

"By being difficult?!"

"Sure. Why not?" The brown haired woman shrugged. "Stranger things exist."

Jeanne deadpanned. "Name one."

"Well." The tall woman pursed her lips, folding her arms contemplatively. "Maigo's face for one."

(Jeanne though it was hilarious. But she wasn't going to laugh. Her lips had twitched though. Damnit, Poppy was good.)

Poppy clapped her hands together all of a sudden and smiled widely: "Come on now. I need help watching for Swallow Island. And don't you also need to make lunch? This is no time for self-pity."

"Alright." Jeanne took a deep breath. She slowly got to her feet and sighed deeply. "I feel as though as soon as I step out that door all my energy will become non-existent."

Poppy laughed and nodded. "Captain does tend to have that effect. She's a vitality leech or something, I'm certain of if."

"I agree. It captures her nature perfectly."

"Yes, yes, I know. Also, she has this unreasonable desire to delve into the arts. Which I cannot fathom." Poppy shuddered, her face blanching.

"...Do I even want to know."

"No." The woman replied, a bit too quickly. "You really don't and God help you if you ever come to know why."

"All...right then." Jeanne walked out the ladies' barracks more confused than ever, but also, for some unfathomable reason, also more reassured in all her days on the Zephyr

Then she saw her Captain wrestling with a fish three times her size on the deck and Jeanne's eye immediately teared up.

"Why can't she be normal?" She whispered, mostly for herself.

Poppy heard, and Poppy most definitely laughed.

"That wouldn't be any fun! Hey, Captain what kind of fish is that?!"

"Don't know!" The black haired girl shouted in response, "It looks tasty though so does it matter?!"

Jeanne whimpered.

* * *

 ** _Okay so I think my new favorite thing is having a character who considers themselves to be cool, and that they're chill and all, but then have a mental breakdown as soon as they realize how insane everyone else is. Basically my premises with Jeanne. She thinks it's all fine until she actually spends time alone with Anne I just laugh honestly I love doing this. Anyway, sorry this took so long, this year as just been really, really rough for me school wise and I'm just so tired. Anyway! Summer's so close!_**

 ** _Hope you enjoyed the chapter,_**

 ** _L & D_**


	12. Pheasant

**_Heyyy guys!_**

 ** _Before I begin, there is something epic that I need to speak to you about._**

 ** _Okay, so one of my best friends recently released his first album and I am absolutely in awe of it. It is honestly amazing for being done by entirely one person and I think he is so talented for being able to do something like it while in high school._**

 ** _Anyways, please check it out, it's on Spotify, and iTunes; the name of the album is Till The Lights Go Out by Nick Jaye. He also has one song on YouTube by the name of Don't Pretend (by Nick Jaye you need his name to actually get the result)._**

 ** _You guys should totally check it out and I'm seriously not just saying that because he's my friend. I honestly believe he is so talented and I genuinely think people will really like his work._**

 ** _Anyway! Here's the new chapter!_**

 ** _Hope you enjoy,_**

 ** _L & D_**

* * *

"I don't see anything too special." Maigo commented whist tilting his head. "It just looks like an island."

"Are you blind?" Poppy asked forcefully as she slapped her map and then gestured frustratedly, "It looks exactly like a bird. It looks just like a bird."

"It looks like an island to me." Maigo repeated, not impressed.

"And you look like a moron to me." Poppy retorted mockingly, aggressively sighing. She scowled at the island (which did look just like a bird) and crossed her arms. "This isn't cloud watching, Maigo, the shape of this damn island is not open for interpretation. It looks like a bird. It's called Swallow Island. It's a bird."

"Sounds like your trying to convince yourself that."

"I swear to God, Maigo-"

"I swear to God, Maigo-" he mimicked in a surprisingly accurate falsetto.

Poppy had reached her limit. That was as much as she could take of Maigo's nonsense without throwing a punch, so she cocked her fist and send it right into his cheek without a second thought.

"Man!" Poppy exclaimed with her hands on her hips, looking as though she had discovered the Eighth Wonder of the World. "Look at that Island! It looks just like a bird! Don't it Maigo?"

Maigo was out cold.

"Was that meant to be rhetorical?" Jeanne questioned as she approached the railing, sparing a glance as the land before them. "It does look like a bird, I gotta say."

"Of course." The tall brunette woman flicked her hair and smiled.

The blonde gave her a sideways look and frowned. "Of course to my question or that it looks like a bird?"

"Of course!" Poppy said again, only this time, with more gusto. "Forget Maigo, what a drag."

"Guys, what's Maigo doin' on the floor? He takin' a nap again? It's not even noon..." Anne entered the fray, stretching out into a yawn. She smacked her lips and scratched her rib cage lazily, padding up to her other two crew mates with all the urgency of a bumblebee. "Oh wow."

Poppy nodded in the affirmative. "I know."

"It looks like a bird." Anne tilted her head, squinting at it. "I didn't expect it to look that much like a bird?"

The three women all exchanged glances, a clear sensation of preposterousness lingering on their skin as the captain gripped the rail of her ship tightly. "Why the hell does it still feel I'm in an awful romance novel?"

"Anne, what is it with you and the haunting feeling that you're in a romance novel?" Jeanne sighed, rubbing her temples. Poppy laughed offhandedly, but was really thinking the exact same thing. Anne had some strange, rational fear that somewhere, somehow, some day, she would end up in the plot line of a lovey-dovey story with no escape.

"Because it does! I mean, in what sane universe is there an island that looks like a bird?! Okay, I'll admit that I perhaps am not the protagonist of said romance, but look at Jeanne! She actually has a figure that doesn't look like a stick! Poppy and I are clearly the two witty sidekicks, and everything will go to hell in a hand basket as soon as we dock on that island."

"Anne, you've clearly misread the genre label on the top of the screen." Maigo muttered from his comatose state. "It says family and adventure."

Anne curled her lip and pulled her head back in confusion, "What?"

"What?" Maigo replied and then returned to being unconscious.

The women all look at Maigo, sprawled out on the deck, and frown a disapproving little frown at him, in perfect unison.

"I think you knocked a few screws loose." Jeanne commented nonchalantly.

"Not me." Poppy said in complete seriousness. "Any damage done to that brain occurred long before I met him."

"Ladies, ladies, the poor guy can even defend himself."

"So?"

Anne laughed whimsically and picked her unconscious first mate up swiftly, resting him delicately in her arms. "I'm going to lie him down. I'll be back." With that she padded off, leaving Jeanne and Poppy to their own devices.

Swallow Island in the mean time only grew closer. The sheer absurdity of the landmass in itself was baffling. Poppy for one couldn't even fathom how such a thing came into existence, or what miracle of nature allowed its formation. What Poppy did know was that it was hella cool (that's a technical term for stunning feats of nature).

Jeanne, however, seemed as though she was tired of the sight just as soon as she had fully taken it in. She yawned. Poppy was slightly offended for the island.

"Okay, so," Jeanne yawned again, this time louder. "I get the whole bird thing, but is this it? Can we go now? Are we even going to get on it?"

"I dunno. Does it matter? I could just spend days marveling at it. Couldn't you?" The tall woman's eyes sparkled, absolutely enthralled with the majestic sight before her.

"No." Jeanne answered. "I really couldn't."

Poppy gasped and the blonde waved her off flippantly.

"Not that I don't think it's pretty, it's simply so boring only looking. I do like to explore."

(Wasn't she a wreck in the last chapter? What the hell's up with her? How can she be so relaxed; does she think it's all rainbows and sunshine now that Anne's needless torture was done?)

"Jeanne, go away."

"What?"

"Go. Away. Shoo. Vamos. Sayonara. If you can't appreciate the island then get outta my face. It's that or shut up."

Jeanne truly looked as though she were pondering it intensely, with a stern eyebrow furrow and all. She cupped her chin with her hand thoughtfully and nodded. "Bye. You have fun out here." She scurried off, leaving Poppy on her lonesome.

"Thank the Heavens that Jeanne has the biggest mouth from here to the Grandline." Poppy sighed, and settled her forearms on the ships railing, gazing at the landmass with full entrapment.

"Far away lands, you'll soon meet my eye,

Perhaps just as soon as I bid goodbye;

There are mountains to climb, and rivers to swim..." The words fell away and the tune was all that was left. A smile lingered on Poppy's lips as she hummed, and in the distance, she could hear trees fiercely muttered unknowable secrets into the wind.

She shivered in anticipation.

* * *

How long she had been standing there, Poppy didn't know. She was taken with the view, and absolutely did not want to leave in the slightest. However, her captain had other plans.

She heard Anne beckon her with that ridiculously loud voice: "Poppy, come inside for a second we need to have a crew meeting!"

Poppy couldn't just ignore her captain. Well, she could, but Anne could be unusually strict about obeying pertinent requests. Poppy really didn't want to be on latrine duty again. Her usual chore shift was enough as it was. So she tore her eyes away from the island and sauntered into the dining hall and paused at the door.

Maigo was awake, much to Poppy's disappointment, and sitting at a chair, glaring daggers at her. She sighed and took a seat next to him, Jeanne on his other side, and the captain across from all three of them.

"Alright, guys!" Anne began cheerfully, "At Maigo's request, we're gonna make an emergency plan! Because we're obviously a bunch of sissies that need an emergency plan." This time it was Anne's turn to glare. But at Maigo. Who shrunk substantially as Anne glowered at him.

"Look, Captain, I know you hate preparation of any sort, but seriously, it's better to be safe than sorry."

Poppy groaned loudly, throwing her head back in exasperation. "Are you kidding me? We're actually going to waste time doing this? Captain, com'on, we don't need this crap."

Maigo sneered, giving her a sidelong snarl at the same time, "That's fine until someone kills himself and then the rest of you are running around like headless chickens."

"Well, then, everyone, make sure to not kill yourself. Are we good? We good? Good." Poppy stood, about to make a fashionable exit until Anne gestured for her to take her seat again.

The captain sighed, rubbing her temples. "Okay guys. Maigo has a point. As gung-ho as we might be about this I have to be a..." She paused and shuddered, "responsible captain and make sure we all know what's up. So, we'll go explore tomorrow morning. We will all stay together until we can get a good look around. You got that, Poppy?" Anne looked at her navigator expectantly.

Poppy cringed. "Yes." She muttered miserably.

"Good. When we figure this place out, you guys can go wherever ya like. If you find trouble, yell."

"Yell?" Maigo parroted, the look of disapproval obvious on his face.

"Yes, Maigo, yell." Anne said patronizingly. "The island's not that big. Calm down."

"Question."

"Shoot, Jeanne."

The blonde woman tapped her fingernails against the table rhythmically, "Do we know anything about this island at all? What kind of people live here? Are they friendly? Should we be cautious? Or are we going in totally blind, which is completely idiotic, mind you-"

"Okay, okay." Anne interjected. She crossed her arms and groaned. "I don't know anything about this island. More reason for caution. Clearly. God... you people have no sense of adventure."

Maigo cracked his knuckles, "I have a sense of adventure, but I do enjoy living, first and foremost." He stood, a pleased little look on his face. Poppy could guess that it was simply from getting Anne to agree to arrange some sort of plan. Even if the plan wasn't very good to begin with.

The captain shook her head forlornly, "All I wanted was an adventure," she bemoaned miserably, "maybe meet some weirdo island people, have fun, that's it, bend the rules a little maybe, but nooo."

"Anne." Maigo warned, raising a threatening eyebrow. No body wanted to be around Maigo when he raised that barely noticeable blond eyebrow. That meant be was about to nag someone unceasingly for an hour minimum. But Anne took no heed.

(That was why she was Poppy's most beloved captain. She was an hotheaded idiot, but a clever hotheaded idiot thankfully.)

Anne pursed her lips and rose to her feet; both of her eyes narrowed, and Maigo was undergoing a full frontal assault of Anne's death stare. "Don't you Anne me, sir. I've already done this meeting thing to give you peace of mind, so don't test me, Maigo. I will not be tested."

In a strange moment, reminiscent of a theatrical aside, Jeanne whispered (it was actually more of a faux, loud parody of a whisper, completely not a whisper at all), "Poppy, is it just me or does Anne remind you of an overbearing mother?"

Poppy, of course, couldn't find it in herself to disagree with such an obvious truth. She nodded her head, but failed to verbalize her agreement.

"Jeanne, I have ears."

Poppy was so thankful she decided to keep her mouth shut.

Jeanne, on the other hand, went a frightening shade of white and chuckled nervously. "I didn't say anything."

"Uh huh," Anne deadpanned, "I guess you also didn't say that you wanted me to cook dinner tonight. And I guess I didn't say I would. So, I suppose that means you're cooking dinner. Thank you so much for being to generous, Jeanne."

This time, Jeanne wisely shut up.

"Okay. Now that I am throughly irritated, I think I'm going to sit in the crow's nest. Goodbye." Anne turned on her heels and marched straight out of the room.

Maigo hummed. "Well, that could have gone better."

"Yeah, no shit."

"Oh, shut up Poppy." He retorted scathingly.

Jeanne nodded, slapping her hand on the table, "Yeah, shut up Poppy! You're the only one that didn't get scolded. What the hell were we even scolded for?!"

"Let me make the reason expressly clear," Poppy leaned in close, and her two crew mates did the same, somewhat eager and somewhat curious: "YOU WERE BEING SMART ASSES AND OBVIOUSLY ANNE HAD ENOUGH."

"Oh my god."

"Did you have to yell?!"

"Yes. I've heard smart asses are also dumb asses so I had to make it easy for you two." She gave them both a saccharine smile and batted her eyelashes. "Aren't I nice?"

"Was that a pun?" Maigo muttered.

"I think that was a pun." Jeanne answered.

"Not a pun. Witty banter. Anyways, I'm out of here," Poppy stood, "good luck escaping Anne's wrath."

"Oh my god." Jeanne lamented, "We're dead, Maigo. We're never gonna hear the end of it."

Meanwhile, Maigo was mentally covering all the best hiding places on the ship.

Poppy left the room, and returned to her spot at the railing, staring longingly to where the promise of adventure was bound to be fulfilled.

* * *

The next day started brighter and earlier than anyone on the Vyssini Zephyr had experienced for weeks.

It was seven in the morning and Poppy wanted to perish and sleep for eternity.

That unfortunately could not be arranged on such short notice. Poppy was on deck at seven-thirty sharp. Anne had already been waiting and they were joined by Jeanne and then Maigo shortly after.

Everyone but the captain stared at the frankly suspect piece of driftwood that was supposed to take them ashore.

"We're taking a dingy." Maigo said.

Anne nodded, and turned to face said boat. "Yes, we're taking a dingy. How else to suggest we get on an island without a port?"

"I wasn't suggesting anything." The first mate cringed and sighed. "I just want to say that this thing has seen better days."

"Probably." Poppy walked over to it. "Stop chatting and help me lower it down into the water. Anne, get in. You're the smallest."

"Don't drop me. I'll kill you both."

"I have no doubt. Just get in the damn boat."

"If anyone else gives me attitude, I swear I will turn this ship around and we'll go explore some library or something extremely boring." Anne rolled up her sleeves and climbed in.

To make a very long, very painful story short, they all got in the boat without any of them being throw into the water. Which was a definite plus. However, the ten minute endeavor left everyone exceedingly grumpy, and that was how they remained until sand was under their feet. Some people remained grumpy even after they got off the crowded dingy.

"I hate sand," Anne grunted lowly, "let's go before I get any in my shoes and kill someone."

"I'm pretty sure you've already bit everyone's head off at least once this morning."

"Oh, okay, Maigo, do you want there to be a second time?" Maigo paled. "Yeah, I thought so."

The crew began the trek into the jungle.

At first, it wasn't terrible; in fact, the walk was generally pleasant, and the sound of song birds filled their ears with mellifluous noise. But, gradually, as they went deeper and deeper into the wilderness, the bird quieted. Soon, no one was able to hear a single sound besides footsteps and breathing.

Poppy was immediately unsettled. The humid air clung to her skin and the sensation of terrible wrongness prickled at the hairs on the back of her neck. She knew her captain felt similarly. Anne's foul mood had only increased, and there was no talk at all within the group. Maigo, Poppy, and Jeanne could tell that Anne was on red alert.

Something wasn't right.

Anne stopped, suddenly and without warning. Maigo bumped into Poppy, both of them halting, and Jeanne quickly followed suit. The four held their breaths, and while Anne swung her head black and forth, her eyes darting around frantically, Poppy tried to hear whatever had cause them to stop. She couldn't pinpoint it, but there was in fact a vague rustling coming from the trees, that could have been the wind, but her captain seemed to think otherwise. The tall woman shifted on her heels, leaves crunching underfoot.

Anne set her a warning glance and Poppy then understood that something was watching them. The captain reached slowly into her boot. Poppy readied her brass knuckles. Maigo frantically pulled out his fishing rod. Jeanne stiffed, the air about her bending ever so slightly.

Poppy took another step forward, and even as Anne leaped to pull her back, Poppy saw a pair of eyes in the underbrush. Then another and another.

It had just taken a second, only a single moment for dozens of people armed with pointed spears, bows and arrows, and pistols to appear out of no where.

Anne cursed softly under her breath.

The wind howled overhead and Poppy froze.

* * *

 ** _Well._**

 ** _That cliffhanger was entirely on purpose and I hope you liked it!_**

 ** _So I'm thinking about making the "Swallow Island Arc" (as I am calling it) five or six chapters long so yay! And on another note, this story might be longer than I originally anticipated. Like way longer. Hope you guys are ready for it!_**

 ** _See you soon,_**

 ** _L & D_**


	13. Owl

**Let's just jump right into it, shall we?**

 **Peace,**

 **L & D**

* * *

Anne would have liked to say that she was a woman of above average sense faculties, which, indeed, she was, but lo and behold, being exceptionally sensitive meant nothing when you were obviously surrounded by loads of people with guns and pointy objects. She caught Maigo's eye, and he winced out a cautious grin.

Anne sighed, and knew that this situation wasn't exactly the best. So, she did the thing she did best: Anne laughed.

She didn't chuckle, because chuckling was suspicious to be frank, but she did let her inhibitions go and she just laughed, from the deepest part of her belly.

It was a pleasant, contagious sound, even if no one joined her, and after a good minute, Anne stopped, wiped the tears from her eyes and sighed.

"Okay. Now that I'm in the mood for some shit, tell me what's with the weapons." Anne plopped down, legs folded, blinking intensely at whom she assumed to be the leader of the group—the young, stern looking boy whom all the other folk were looking to for support.

He grimaced, his glowing viridescent eyes reflecting the sunlight quite nicely, but with a deep distrust as he stepped forward, "Who are you, and what do you and your crew want."

"Well, since you asked nicely, I'm Anne, that's Maigo, Jeanne, and Poppy," she aided the names with appropriate pointing, "And we kinda just wanted to explore? But we really didn't know what we were gettin' in to."

He sneered at her, and she opted to grin even wider.

 _Man_ , she thought, _I hate talkin', and all that bullshit, but I ain't killin' anybody today._

"Yeah, no shit," he raised his hand, waving off his small army, "you just walked into a war zone."

The captain laughed, almost hysterically, and Maigo laughed too, but he was crying so it wasn't a good sort of laugh. "Yeah, you know, that would be just our luck." She paused, considering, "Hey, would you mind not tryin' ta kill us?"

He hummed.

"I'll think about it. I'm Hyoji, and you are gonna be our prisoners for the time being."

"What." Anne said, not really bothering to properly object.

"Well, it's that or we kill you here and now, so it's your pick."

"Okay, look, we're not 'ere to cause trouble, and I'd rather not be a prisoner. Could we work out a deal?"

Hyoji raised an eyebrow at her and she clapped her hands together pleadingly. "I'm beggin' ya, if it's war, then we can crack some skulls, just let us be. I don't wanna hurt anyone here, and ya don't seem too bad."

"How do you know?" Hyoji taunted, stocking his chin high in the air. "We could be the bad guys."

"Nah. I know these kinds of things." Anne laughed. "And also, I spy at least ten children and twenty elderly people in this crowd, so I'm assuming you can't be too bad. Plus, you're also short on people."

"She's got a point, son," A middle age man commented, stroking his beard.

Hyoji gave a sidelong glare. "I didn't ask for your opinion, Bob."

"I gladly accept Bob's opinion," Anne chuckled nervously, her eyes shifting around, reassessing the situation.

They were still vastly outnumber—not that it concerned Anne—but now, with the exception of Hyoji, the rest of the group seemed to be less on guard. Anne could use that.

"Okay, 'ere's the deal." Anne started, her eyes wide with earnest delight, a flicker of genius floating in her grin, "You tell me what's eating your brains, and I'll see what I can do."

"Marines-!" One child shouted, only to be silenced by his mother.

Anne laughed.

Just her luck.

"You know, personally, I ain't too fond of Marines. They once took something very important from me. If Marines are your problem, then that's something I can fix; I'll happily fix it, in fact."

Hyoji made a face. "We can't trust you."

"And we can't trust you, Mr. 'I want to make y'all prisoners', but here we are," Anne waved her hand flippantly, "so cut the shit and make a decision already."

Hyoji sneered at her, and pulled at his hair furiously. "Fuck." He spat, looking over the crowd that shifted anxiously. "If you shits do anything funny I'll destroy you, ya hear?"

"Sir, yes, sir!" Anne hollered, grinning sidelong at Maigo, who breathed out a sigh of relief. Jeanne looked as though she was going to hurl, and Poppy's face was beginning to get some color back into it.

"I managed to not get us killed! Mark this day in the calendars folks!"

"You're such an idiot." Maigo muttered.

"Hey, Poppy was the one who wanted to come here."

Poppy whipped her head up, "Hey now, you shitty captain leave me outta this you wanted to come here just as badly as I did-"

"Oh yeah-?!"

"Do you wanna go-"

Poppy and Anne's faces were uncomfortably close; therefore Jeanne, tired of everyone's shit, walked straight up to them and knocked their foreheads right together.

It had been a crap day for every member of the _Vyssini Zephyr_. Not that that was unusual.

* * *

The crew was led (ever so hesitantly) back to the insurgents home base... or home cave, if she were to put it correctly.

Anne looked around the cold, damp setting her crew and she were to be calling home for a good week at the very least. Anne luckily had nothing against caves. They were cold, but also extremely awesome, so the positives naturally weighed out the negatives.

She gave the area a once over.

There were broad palm leaves scattered all about the floor of the cave. Stacks of blankets were neatly arranged in one of the crevices, hastily woven baskets filled with food sat in the center of the small encampment, and from all that Anne could perceive, Hyoji was running a humble campaign against the marines.

"This way." Hyoji veered away from the rest of the crowd, towards the back, going deeper into the side of the mountain in which they were nestled.

They stopped barely twenty paces away from where the rebels settled into familiar, cautious chatter. Hyoji sat down. Anne and her crew followed suit.

The black haired captain settled in a gestured in a sort of 'begin' motion. "Explain the situation to me."

The rebel leader nodded, shoulders ever so tense.

"Swallow Island has always been loyal to the World Government, always." Hyoji stressed, eyes aflame. "Until one month ago," he shifted, resting a forearm on his knee.

"One month ago, our most respected elder got assassinated. No one knows why—only that the marines are responsible. Now, Mrs. Jane wasn't exactly a saint, but she didn't deserve to get shot in the head in her own bed either. Not when she had offered so much kindness and aid to her village." He swallowed thickly. "We asked and asked and asked for a reason that would warrant such a killing, but no one would answer us. None of the marines thought it was of any consequence that an integral member of our community was gone. They laughed, and drank, and ate like other had ever happened."

He paused. "But I couldn't forget. We couldn't forget." Another pause." But most of all: I couldn't stand for a system that could kill a harmless old woman in cold blood."

Anne felt goosebumps crawl up her back— _that night in the forest haunts her, the smell of blood wafts up her nostrils, and all she can see his Maman, bled out, cold, dead, in what world could this happen, in what sick, cruel world could her Maman just be executed like a dog_ —and she nodded.

"I understand."

His expression flashed before her eyes.

"Do you?"

Hyoji's eyes were hard—hard like hers many years ago—and Anne knew that Hyoji had people to protect and a home to save.

"I do."

There is something nostalgic and terribly heartbreaking about it all.

She doesn't think her crew understands why she stared at Hyoji and Hyoji at her. He searched her features for dishonesty, for betrayal. She could recognize the routine with ease. She had done it so many times, just the same as him after all.

After a moment of silence, Hyoji sighed, running a hand tiredly over his eyes.

"Give me one reason I should trust you."

Anne pondered this. Hyoji honestly didn't have a reason to trust her or her crew at all, but here they were.

She tilted her head to the side, and smiled. "Because I hate the World Government with every fiber of my being."

There was a sort of finality in her tone that made it hard to argue with her. Her crew glanced at her, and she caught eyes with Maigo.

Is that true, he seemed to ask her.

Anne was almost insulted. She tsked, bristling at the fact that Maigo assumed she would lie to save their skin. She wasn't a complete asshole, nor was she disingenuous in anyway. She wouldn't lie about something that was so quintessential to her identity.

"Why?" Hyoji asked. The word left his lips, and it sounded desperate, it sounded wet with past agony, with grief Anne hadn't witnessed, and with experiences that would surely haunt him for the rest of his life.

Why, he asked—why his island, why the World Government, why did justice disappear, why, why, why—

Why did she want to help them?

Anne laughed.

"Because I can."

Her eyes shifted in the dark of the cave. The lighthearted glimmer that they emanated sharpened, and the cold, calculating gaze of a business woman filled its place.

The air seems colder. Anne grins as she sees Hyoji look taken aback.

Perfect.

She stands, brushing off her pants, gesturing back to the central meeting area.

"Do you have anymore questions, or shall we go back?"

Hyoji pauses. He looks at her incredulously, with wild, perplexed awe. "Who are you?"

Anne doesn't mention that she had already answered that question. She was Anne, plain and simple.

She opened her mouth to reply, but hesitated, looking deeply, and realizing—

Oh.

She considered his question.

 _—dirty alleyways, breathless laughter, sunshine smiles, closed windows, fluttering curtains, purple under eyes, rotting doors, hushed whispers, stolen food, cackling brother, simple words, simple deeds—_

 _..._

 _"Nee-chan, can you hear the sea singing—"_

 _For just an instance, she could, she swore she could._

 _..._

"I'm just lil' ol' Anne, captain of the _Vyssini Zephyr_. No one to be worried about." She flashed a grinned.

That is the only answer that seemed appropriate; the only answer she was fully qualified to give. Every other formulation in her mind fell flat, utterly unconvincing on her tongue.

She was the daughter of no one, the servant of no one, the associate of no one; she was nothing to anyone of consequence.

In the dim light, the shadows flickered off that crooked smile, and Anne looked a bit more like an animal that anyone in that tent would ever admit.

Hyoji muttered: "You haven't answered jack shit, you wench. Why the fuck are you being enigmatic? We ain't got time for that."

"Look here, I'm helpin' you outta the goodness of my heart, and this is the kinda shit I get rewarded with? Did your mother ever teach you manners, asshat?"

"I'm an orphan." Hyoji rebutted dryly, looking for horror to flicker across Anne's face.

It never did.

"Oh yeah," she snapped, instead, "Well, boo boo. So the fuck were plenty of other kids. That doesn't justify you being an ass."

"The hell—" Hyoji lunged at Anne, only to be hugged ferociously by Poppy.

"Oh, Hyoji-san, we really appreciate your hospitality, thanks for all you've done for us, but we really need to go get some rest and plan a strategy for tomorrow, thankyoubye—"

Poppy then proceeded to grab Jeanne, while Maigo grabbed Anne, and they bolted out of the tent, into the safety of the crowd of people anxiously awaiting their reappearance.

"What the fuck," Hyoji whispered, "what the actual _fuck_."

* * *

There was a second in her conversation with Hyoji that stunned her sensibilities.

There was a moment when the world quieted, and everyone faded, and it was as if the air was melting into her skin, as if the walls of the cave were whispering every secret of its history, every moment. They spoke of the carving of the land, and great heroes that had rested on its floors. The trees rustled and swooned with steady recollection of each year, of each leaf that had fallen from their branches.

She was trapped in eternity, in the eternity of the earth, in its vast eras, in its silent knowledge of the happenings of the past, and it was as if, for just a moment, she could see everything and nothing all at one.

She didn't really understand how to describe that moment, or what it meant, or even if it was real.

Memories of Roger murmuring to cobblestones and crooning to oaken shutters resurfaced to her mind.

She considered this that night, and as she fell asleep, the knowledge of all things lulled her to sleep with a canticle that she was surely to forget by morning.

* * *

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 **Thank you for your patience and your reading,**

 **L & D**


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